The Draco Diaries
by Loonynamelass
Summary: The as of yet most completed journal of this character! Entering his entries, we find someone confused by doctrines instilled by parents, disappointment, fear, romance, and most of all, the real world. T for a few slightly suggestive moments.
1. Introduction

_Disclaimer: All characters and several events belong to the genius of Joanne K. Rowling. So don't sue me!_

* * *

September 1, 1991

Dear -Di- Journal,

My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy and I think this is stupid. Writing in a book…about innermost thoughts? Sounds like asking to be blackmailed if you ask me. I'm writing this as Pansy glares at me contemptuously. She gave me this infernal book last year for my birthday and just threw a tantrum about how it was in the bottom of my trunk, untouched. So, to escape the hormonal girl, I decided on the lesser of two evils: this journal. And let me get this straight. NOT DIARY.

Okay, so as a journal, I suppose I'll recall my day… If I make it too short, Pansy will probably murder me. She may seem sweet, but she has her twisted ways. (Cue shudder)

So I guess I'm not as excited as you would think. "Yay, school" euphoria disappeared when I realized what this all is: me hanging out with people I already know, learning from some people I don't know, sneering at some people I don't know, so I can grow up and join the Dark Lord like my father wants me to. All excitement killed rather efficiently.

Though it was kind of cool to know I really am the richest kid around… Well, other than that Justin Finch-Fletchey, but how can he count if he's just a Mudblood?

On the Hogwarts express, Harry Potter was famed to be on the train. So, at great personal expense, I went over to his compartment and gallantly offered my hand, forgiving him for seating himself with a weasel and a mudblood. He was inexcusably rude, dismissing me as if I were a sea slug. Ugh. Well, I'll show him that you _don't_ _mess_ with a Malfoy.

In fact, I saw him before school started at Madam Malkins. He had seemed to have manners then, but I didn't have an opportunity to ask his name. Now that I think about it, he seemed to despise me to a certain degree even then.

Then, I went over to that soiled Sorting hat, with the mindset that I WAS going to Slytherin because if otherwise, one, my father will avada kedavra me on the spot, and, two, the choices aren't that good, like Hufflepuff and Gryffindor? Nauseating. Though I suppose Ravenclaw might not be _too_ bad, but let me repeat: my father will certainly green-flash me.

I still haven't convinced Father to get me a broomstick, though not for lack of trying. "Nimbus 2000! You can't even ride this year!" or something like that was reverberating in my ears all summer. At least I can show off in front of my fellow Slytherins on a broom during the inevitable flying lessons.

Greg and Vince are keeping really close to me. It was kind of annoying at first, but they might turn out to be useful. Brainless brawn gets things done.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

_

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A/N: So what do you think? This is my first fanfiction, so I welcome all feedback. There are more interesting bits in store!_


	2. Interesting Exploits

_Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is not only awesome, but also owns all of the characters and many of the events described below. That's what I call multitasking!_

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September 2, 1991

Dear Journal,

I wasn't planning on writing today, but when I went into the common room, Pansy leapt from the shadows –the lighting is a downside of the Slytherin dormitories- and squealed at me, though I wasn't quite sure of what her mile-a-minute mouth was saying, and thrust the book at me again. "Now write about your first day of school!" she demanded. I just rolled my eyes and resigned myself to my fate.

So, it was an okay day. The teachers are competent, and this is wasting valuable homework time… I saw Potter again, in Potions. Professor Snape, my now all-time favorite teacher, publicly ridiculed him and took away two points from Gryffindor. I'm not quite sure if that is a very large sum, but it was rather cheering on our first day. Should this continue, we have the House Cup in the bag!

Everything is quite more cliquey than home. Usually, everyone I know would suck up to me, probably for my high status and money, but at school things are a bit different. First, there are the four giggly girls, in order of supremacy, Pansy, Daphne, Tracey (little sister of Roger Davies, half-blood), and Millicent, at the bottom of the food-chain for her blood (half) and appearance. Blaise and Teddy spend their time with each other as steadfast "besties." Therefore, I am left with the two dunderheads, Greg and Vince. I'm quite convinced that neither of them has enough sophistication for friendship, or much else, really, so I'll have to keep myself company with some interesting exploits. As far as I can tell, there's little else I can do.

Hope for excitement,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

September 12 1991

Dear Journal,

Pansy has finally stopped bugging me about the journal. She's probably forgotten, what with today's gossip caused by "our new celebrity" (Prof. Snape's words from the first day. It still cracks me up.) I'm a bit peeved about the whole thing, too, because I have to admit, Potter is not that bad at flying.

Oh yeah, so today began our flying lessons, and guess what, it was Slytherin and Gryffindor shared. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore gets some kind of strange amusement from pairing us two houses together. Anyway, Longbottom (an unfortunate name for an unfortunate person) has mental problems or something, and not only flies to early but falls off of his broom. He's a disgrace to his pure blood! Well, while Madam Hooch and Pomfrey dealt with Longbottom, I spotted his Remembrall lying on the ground (mental issues, I told you) and decided to pull a little prank, as the first of my interesting exploits. I grabbed the Remembrall and flew up, planning to drop it in a tree. However, Potter then flies again, and lunges at me. I dodged pretty well, but I knew that on the ground it looked like Potter was a better flier. That is so untrue and unfair; I had gotten a Shooting Star while Potter had a Cleansweep! So I decided to drop and retreat, which would leave me in safety and Potter in distress. However, Potter somehow catches it, even though it was practically _impossible_ when I threw it, and that would've made me mad except Professor McGonagall happens to see this event. She's quivering, she's so upset, and she won't even listen to any of the protests, so she drags Potter away from the bewildered crowd.

Success? Yes, methinks. But then, somehow he isn't rid of yet, so I form another plan, which I'm pretty much done with. At dinner, I challenged Potter to a duel at midnight. Then I told Filch that I had heard that a student would be in the trophy room at midnight.

So simple, yet puts Potter in way of expulsion once again. These exploits are rather fun, eh?

Now all there is to do is watch the bustle die down, listen to Pansy's soliloquy about Parvati, her lost friend, and sleep with the idea of Potter fretting, awake, until midnight, just to meet his doom and learn his lesson.

Not evil, just determined,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: I decided to double up, since my chapters are way too short. And people, please comment! As of this moment, a very very tiny fraction of the people who read my first chapter commented. I am a bit put off by this. Oh, and by the way, if you find any random American phrases or ways to make it a little more English or aristocratic, please let me know. I strive for accuracy!  
_


	3. Trifling Trolls

_Disclaimer: Are you convinced yet? Harry Potter is not mine, you silly people! JKR is the mastermind... always... for everything except for my point of view and words below. _

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September 13, 1991

Dear Journal,

I was so looking forward to entering some good news here… but no, somehow, Potter has managed to not only evade expulsion but also find himself with a new broomstick! Well, it _is _Friday the thirteenth.

How many times had I told Father, "Give me a broomstick, I need it, please" and he replied, "What for? You aren't even allowed to have one!" And now Harry Potter, moneyless, parentless _Harry Potter_ has somehow gotten hold of one!

And this is part of my ultimate proofing; all of the teachers are on Potter's side! Hogwarts, I claim again, is definitely rigged against us Slytherins! When I pointed out the broomstick to Professor Flitwick, the midget just smiled and said, "McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances." Special circumstances –pah! It's just an excuse to get on the good side of our great savior, the boy who lived.

At least Prof. Snape's sane,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

* * *

October 31, 1991

Dear Journal,

Okay, so I've skipped a while, I know. I finally managed to perfect my Hover Charm, and my grades are looking up. We threw a party two weeks ago for Teddy's birthday, who is a very interesting person and I think I would enjoy a better friendship with him. That is, if I can shake off Greg and Vince long enough for a little privacy. I'm tired for now of my interesting exploits, for Potter keeps coming out on top and it's rather discouraging, so I'm trying to expand my social life (my dad actually sent me a letter among the sweets that said he was very displeased, I should keep up better contacts with people, why do I hate Harry Potter, etc. etc. My response: Potter hates me back. On the other front, I suppose I'll try.)

Something exciting happened today. P-p-profes-sor Quir-rel ran in today with the news that a troll had escaped! So the prefect, I've never been good with names, was leading us to the Slytherin dungeons when we heard this crazy racket going on from above. Tracey confirmed that it was the girl's bathroom, and it was just really cool to actually witness, even by hearing, skilled wizards at work, using all of those spells for real combat. The voices were kinda dulled, but you could still tell that there were some girly screams, shouted spells, blasts, and finally it all ended with a kind of dull thud. Us first years goggled in awe at each other before heading into the dormitories to finish the feast with the other Slytherins.

School isn't that lame after all,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: Guys, if you don't want Draco to be bad with names, I suggest somebody COMMENT and tell me the name of a Slytherin prefect that could reasonably be a prefect in Harry's first year._

_Hm... and let's see... I'm always open for chapter name suggestions, if that motivates you people._

_And finally, I'm sorry for putting the wrong "to" in the previous chapter, but let's just say even Draco Malfoy can slip up._

_O Draconian Devil!- Yes, my goal is to skim all of the seven books with my entries, which will probably involve extensive perusal of the books for me. Even though it'll be long, since I'm not introducing that much new material, I think that people won't be too upset about a super long fanfic. And I also commend you for commenting! *glares at the silent readers  
_


	4. Quidditch for Christmas

_Disclaimer: JKR wrote Harry Potter, and I'm not saying anything to the contrary by presenting my own ideas below._

* * *

November 9, 1991

Dear Journal,

The first Quidditch game, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, has arrived. (Dumbledore must be enjoying himself) And let's just say... we lost. And Potter is recognized for being able to not die while his broomstick tries to throw him off, which was kind of weird. Perhaps his Nimbus 2000 is a fake.

I'm starting to despise Quidditch, since I can't play and Potter is the star player of the year or something. Marcus Flint was brooding angrily in the common room, so all of the other Slytherins shied away, only to be caught in the celebrating of the rest of the school, which was rather bothersome for those who just wanted to sulk and wish for brooms. So now I find refuge in this book on my bed, while Vincent and Gregory play chess (it's torture watching them...)

And it's pretty depressing to be in the House that everyone else hates. We're not that bad! Really!

My short soliloquy of solemnity,

Draco

* * *

December 25, 1991

Dear Journal,

I took you home for vacation, not because I wanted to write, but because I didn't want you to be found. I haven't forgotten the blackmail idea, though I don't believe there's anything really endangering that I have put in this book.

The presents are good and many. There was the usual stuff, and something new from Mother. She gave me a Muggle book called the "Chronicles of Narnia" by C. S. Lewis. The note inside just said, "A different view of magic. Pretty funny to see Muggle mistakes. Only one realistic witch, who's astounding at non-verbal spells. Don't tell your father." I knew Mother read a lot, but I never imagined she read Muggle things.

Being at the Manor is a nice change. No Potter, attention, Dobby's excellent service, and I can ride Father's broomstick around (until he comes home from work, that is).

If only holidays lasted longer,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

* * *

February 22, 1992

Dear Journal,

I finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia (the book my mother got me had all seven chronicles). It wasn't so bad, even though it was reading. Muggles have an interesting sense of humor. I found another book about Muggle magic, called Artemis Fowl. It's about a criminal mastermind who is determined to find gold by kidnapping fairies. His deviousness reminds of myself a little.

Other than reading books, I am also icing my bruises. Weasley is quite the boxer, one could say, though I have been trained for other things. I suppose it is a necessity, seeing as they practically live in the streets. And it was my comments on his money, or lack thereof, that stimulated such behavior. And I was ridiculing the brains of Longbottom, who did not attack me but Vince and Greg, which I as find proof of his stupidity. I was rather unpleasantly surprised by the ferociousness. Vincent and Gregory fared the best of all of us, then Ron, then me, and then Longbottom. To the latter's credit, though, he managed to give Greg a black eye, which is something to be said.

And all of the ruckus of fighting (unseen by teachers, though) made me miss the end of the Quidditch game, which Potter, of course, ended by catching the Snitch (properly in his hand this time). Why do they put such importance on the Seekers? Even if the Chaser's work is winning, it barely matters as long as the opposing seeker reaches the Golden Snitch first. It demeans all of the rest of the players.

Oh well. All I can do to the unfairness of the world is, like Malfoys before me, make sure I have the advantage.

Hmm. And after DLF (dear little friend) in Prince Caspian, I think I'll sign as DLM from now on. Now, to the task at hand: reading about Holly's captivity in the Fowl Manor (Manors all around, eh?)

The seeker of next year,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Triple entry now, baby! And woohoo for two chapters in one day. I'm working so hard for you, come on people, review review review. (see I even just wrote a little rhyme, see how devoted I am?) Well, I think I'm done writing for today. And yay for Aslan and Arty!_

_Thanks mini buu for reminding me to make it February 1992 (I would've prob gone all 7 years in 1991 otherwise. Eek) And thank you Ichighost just for reviewing!  
_


	5. Good Ol' Dragon Days

_Disclaimer: Yeah, I know, you've heard this jazz before, but I gotta put you straight: A lot of the events and all of the characters were invented by Rowling. The letter from Charlie Weasley to Ronald Weasley is Rowling's exact writing, too.  
_

* * *

April 24, 1992

Dear Journal,

Yeah, I know I haven't written in a long time, but exams are approaching and Father insists I study like, what's a good word for it, Hermione Granger or something. At least I'm better at reading now (I finished Artemis Fowl and am waiting for the next. His exploits are much more successful than mine).

But let me set something straight for you: I hate dragons. Yeah, I know, my name is Latin for dragon. But seriously, dragons are rather, well, frightening. The wizards are supposedly on top of dragons because of our magic, but what do you do when the dragon burns your wand to a crisp?

Well, anyway, I have a sneaking suspicion, nay, _I know_ that there is a dragon at school. I overheard Potty and friends discussing a "dragon hatching" and Hagrid before their Herbology class. I was just passing to get to Transfiguration, and I was like, petrified. Genius Potter finally notices me and shushes the others to be quiet, but the damage is done, and I'm late to Transfiguration. McGonagall's not too happy with me, which is not good, because I've got to tell her sometime, right? She's their Head of House, she has to take care of it. Hatching a dragon is beyond Filch's business.

And, well, judge by the paragraphs above. I'm freaked. But that wasn't it.

I SAW the dragon. After Transfiguration ended, I went back outside to Herbology, and looked towards Hagrid's hut, with a hunch they were heading there, from the snatches I had heard earlier. I was right, so I followed them from a distance. I needed more proof in order to appeal to McGonagall, so I steeled myself to go. When I got there, the beast was on the table, the other four sitting around it. It made me shudder to think how close they were to it, like possessed fools. That's what they were, fools. I stared at it for a moment longer, sharp fangs glistening, fiery eyes bulging, and spiny wings stretching. I suddenly felt cold and hot at the same time, and just sprinted as far away as I could from that dreaded thing.

Still shaky,

DLM

* * *

May 8, 1992

Dear Journal,

Weasley is in the hospital wing because of a "dog" bite on his hand. No prizes for guessing what really bit him. I visited to inspect it (I didn't get very much information last time because of my cowardice). I told Madam Pomfrey I needed to borrow a book. I taunted Weasley for a while about his bite, gleaning from his responses that she was skeptical about his bite, therefore a valuable witness for when I told McGonagall about the dragon. Then I took his textbook with me.

The textbook had more information than my jaunt did. Inside it, Weasley had slipped a letter inside, from some dragon person called Charlie. Here's how it went:

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter -I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love, Charlie_

So, to collect my final proof, I have to lead McGonagall to Potter and the dragon and she can handle things from there. I mean, this is more than just my fear. This could endanger the entire school!

Understandably upset,

DLM

* * *

May 9, 1992

Dear Journal,

Tonight was the night to tell McGonagall, right? To lead the Gryffindors to their doom, and to save the school. And I start to tell her, I say, "Harry Potter's coming! He's got a dragon!" and before I can explain my elaborate evidence, she cuts me off, screaming "Detention!" at me and calling me a liar and taking 20 points from Slytherin. My god, woman, you're wearing a hairnet and a bathrobe, don't call me, a Malfoy, a liar! But there was nothing to be done.

Feeling like dragon dung,

DLM

* * *

May 26, 1992

Dear Journal,

Detention will be 11:00PM with Filch. Oh joy.

What a fine Saturday it is... And did I mention, Potter, Granger, and Longbottom (I'm not quite sure how he's involved) lost 150 points for Gryffindor?

My house mates aren't even mad at me for losing 20 points, they consider I traded 20 for the 150. Even though I didn't save them from a _dragon_, it's like I saved them from losing the House Cup for Slytherin (so we can keep our seven year streak).

Finding the silver linings,

DLM

* * *

Dear Journal,

Wow, two entries in the same day!

Let's cut to the chase. I never want detention again. I thought detention was lines or something, but no, we have to go into the Forbidden Forest. How twisted is that? To punish us for breaking the rules, they make us break another rule.

So the oaf Hagrid is cleverer than he seems, and he favors, of course, Potter and Granger, greeting them genially and complimenting them as the night wore on. But anyway, we separate into teams, Fang (Hagrid's dog), Longbottom and me, and Potty, oaf and Mudblood. If we find a dead unicorn, send up green sparks. If we find trouble, send up red sparks.

I decide to make the best out of a bad thing by scaring Neville by jumping on him from the back. Classic, friendly gesture, right? Though maybe I wasn't being very friendly, Longbottom totally overreacted when he sent up red sparks. So Hagrid comes, calls me an idiot, and pairs me with Potter instead (meanwhile calling him brave).

Okay, so creepy forest, and unicorn blood everywhere, looking for corpse with worst enemy. Finally, we found the unicorn. It was a magnificient creature, sad and pure and lonely. I felt almost like crying (but I course I didn't. Malfoys don't cry). But then, this _thing_, this cloaked figure crawls to the beautiful beast and started drinking its blood.

The cruelty was horrible to stand, and instead of fainting (see crying comment above) I screamed, a very manly scream, to be sure, and ran for the second time in many days, which is too often for comfort. Fang came with me, and we left Potter alone for his fate. I didn't stop until I met Hagrid, and I yelled at him, "We found it! And-" Before I could tell him about the drinking thing, Hagrid and Granger ran to where I was pointing. We eventually found him, accompanied by a centaur, and all was well, so I sprinted until I was clear of the forest.

At least I got some exercise, though I'd better stop and sleep now. I have classes tomorrow!

Somehow surviving,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: I kinda blew it with the whole Artemis Fowl thing, which doesn't come out until 2001, so I decided to just continue my inconsistency to real time events; therefore the Arctic Incident will be published whenever I want it to be. So there!_

_This was one of the first times I've had so much freedom. Draco isn't bent on revenge, he's just a bit frightened! The other time was a small thing, in chapter three when Draco thought that the teachers took care of the troll.  
_

_Oh and finally, Draco seems to be getting a little freer with his journal. __Blackmail, anyone?_

_And to my awesome reviewers:_

_Pros Rhinos Amanda- You are completely right about the publishing dates. Thanks for notifying me, though I'll keep it in, just to make life interesting.  
_

_Horrid Panoramas- Not _yet_, but how else would he get married?_

_King_of_Hearts- don't worry. I'm actually really excited to write HBP and DH because he matures a lot in those books. I promise to slow down. PS is the shortest book and has the least going on school-wise, so the year is just going by quicker. Oh, and btw, I'm still in Year 1, for the record.  
_


	6. An Okay Year

_Disclaimer: JKR went out one day, wrote a book, published it, and decided to make a series. People like me decided to write stories relating to her series. The end._

_

* * *

_June 5, 1992

Dear Journal,

I'm twelve years old today, and that I shall be for 364 days!

This has been an amazing birthday. Pansy and the girls made a cake while the guys (including me) decorated the common room. The rest of the Slytherins must have thought we were nuts. Then we basically ate and laughed for an hour before magicking all the decorations away and emerging back into the gloomier world, where we returned to our little groups, no trace of the party except the warmth in our spirits.

Then we filed out to see the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match, last of the season. For Slytherins, here's our chart of whom to root, for, in order of preference: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and never Gryffindor if you don't want to find yourself suddenly and swiftly alienated from the closely related Slytherin family. So it was a nice birthday present from Hogwarts that Potter was unable to play and Ravenclaw mopped the field with them. (Oops, that wasn't really a chart)

And once again, there have been some crazy rumors about Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Pansy was so busy she could barely attend the party.

This is basically how I heard it from Pansy (if it's wrong, then I blame her):

Weasley played a game of giant chess and won. In the middle of it, however, he had to sacrifice himself. That was okay, though, because Dumbledore later brought him back to life. Granger used fire to burn down a wall that was blocking their path and suffocating them. Then she had to brew a potion that would allow Harry and her to pass through fire, in order to go back and to go forward. Potter went forward, and that's where things get _really_ fishy.

There are a plethora of ridiculous tales concerning him, including the Dark Lord, in the form of a fish, trying to swallow Potter whole, Prof. Quirrel smashing a mirror over Potter's head, and the Dark Lord, existing underneath Professor Quirrel's turban, tries to get the Philosopher's stone from Potter, which Potter obtained from the mirror mentioned earlier.

All three of Potter's stories are completely absurd and obviously untrue, while the other tales cause less skepticism. What truly went down is a mystery until Potter emerges from the hospital wing.

Exams are over, and they weren't as bad as I thought. Professor Binns' exam didn't even mention the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct, and even though my potion turned out a little odd, I don't think Professor Snape will flunk me. I am a bit torn on whether I want Vince and Greg to pass or fail. It would be nice to not have them breathing down my neck, but it would be terribly cruel for me to hope for them to fail.

Oh, and I've got another book to read! The title is a bit girly, which is worrisome, but I got it from Mother, who wrote, "Just as you learned to love books, so did the boy in this story!" It's called, well, I'm embarrassed to write it down, The Princess Bride. If father finds these books, I'll just tell him the authors are wizards from some far of place like Canada or Ethiopia. He's not interested in books.

Hey, I just realized, if this is my birthday, this is yours too!

Happy Birthday, book,

DLM

* * *

June 10, 1992

Dear Journal,

There has never been such proof of prejudice in any of the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Dumbledore favors his old house, Gryffindor, above all others. I'm dead serious about this.

So Slytherin won the House Cup, and the points were as follows: Slytherin 472, Ravenclaw 426, Hufflepuff 352, and Gryffindor last with 312. I cheered heartily, for as I mentioned before, part of our success was my doing, right? But then Dumbledore says, alas, there are more points to add, and somehow, it just turns out that the points he wanted to add to Gryffindor just scraped above Slytherin.

The points he added totaled to _one hundred and seventy_. So, definitely, this school is rigged against Slytherin. no doubt about that. I did notice, however, that his brief reasons for giving the points matched the rumors. Potty didn't give any hint though, as to which may be true.

Other than that, we still won the Quidditch Cup, and both Greg and Vince managed to pass.

Hey, it was a good first year,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: WOOHOO! The freshmen are moving on! One book done in three days!_

_Don't you sometimes wonder where people like Pansy get their information? Those rumors were pretty close to the truth!  
_

_Okay guys, The voting thing didn't work too well. I got a grand total of: 3 votes (thank you Mel, Horrid Panoramas, and King_of_Hearts) I've decided that I want to just continue in this story just because it makes me happier :). But if I get a truckload of messages saying that I should separate them, I will.  
_

_Pros Rhino Amanda- Thanks for your encouragement!_

_Horrid Panoramas- Well, actually, I had some plans for a little something when he's 14. But shh!_

_King_of_Hearts- The Dumbledore thing actually peeves me a little. Can headmasters really do that? The Slytherins even had their banners up! I know we're on Harry's side, but still! Phew, just had to get that out._


	7. II: Familiar and New

_Disclaimer: Jo K Rowling imagined a place of magic and evil and love, dubbed it Harry Potter, and inspired a bunch of readers to write, using her book for some help and material._

* * *

August 19, 1992

Dear Journal,

Have you ever heard the phrase, "like father, like son?" I was immeasurably reminded of that today.

Well, today is the day Father and I went to Knockturn and Diagon Alleys to finish a few errands unspecified. At Flourish and Blotts, Father actually _brawled_ with Mr. Weasley! It was like the same exact situation, for Father had just made snide comments about their wealth before the red-haired person lunged; I could hardly keep from a small smile. However, those kind of gestures just aren't really deemed appropriate when your father is being beaten up by the head of an enemy clan of wizards, so I sucked my cheeks in to restrain myself. Luckily for me, no one was really paying attention to my facial expressions at that moment.

I'm kind of worried about Father, though. He's had a lot of stress lately -the house elf has been acting strange, and Fudge has the ministry hopping from the events of June (apparently Fudge thinks it might be about the Dark Lord. He's rather paranoid and jumpy, in my opinion).

Right now, Mother is taking care of him and such, but he got several nasty bruises from all of those books cascading down on them. Plus, Mr. Weasley is a very skilled wrestler when he chooses, just like Ron Weasley.

Speaking of Mother, she's been a bit poorly. Summer weather has never quite agreed with her, and I suspect she's a bit lonely, since Father is at work about 93.76 percent of the time. She has just surrounded herself with books, and i think she's getting less sleep than Father staying up for him to come home.

And you know, I've been considering reading the Lost Years of Merlin series. It's another book about magic as perceived by Muggles, which I found very intriguing the last time.

Oh, and did you know Weasley's little sister, a regular little red-haired Weaselette, is _attracted_ to Potter? I feel like gagging at the thought.

Pansy's going to have a field day with this,

DLM

* * *

September 5, 1992

Dear Journal,

A new year, a new Defense of the Dark Arts professor, new baby students, and new entertainment for Pansy. Old friends, old teachers, old classes, and old excitement.

She was bouncing when I informed her of my recent summer scoop, just so happy to be back with it all. "I missed so much when I was in Paris! There were so many Muggles polluting the place, and we couldn't use any magic at all, to avoid-" and then she was cut off by the wild embraces of Daphne and Tracey.

Millicent just kind of sat and read on a chair, not bothering to get up. She looked strangely morose, but I had never really talked to her before, so I could only mutter, "hi." She jumped out of her seat at my voice and looked up at me oddly. I looked at her, and then my eyes slid down to what she was reading. She quickly covered it, eyes wide and worried. I tried to reassure her with my eyes while saying, "uh, see you around then."

I felt bad for her, I guess. I'm not really sure. I mean, the thing that really sets her off is just genes, right? Birth and beauty, though important, are not selective traits of someone. I know that these kind of issues exist -unavoidable errors in life, things that just have to be that way. That's something I learned from those books, I guess. Tragedy is something that sometimes has to happen, and you have to get through that.

Or at least, that's what the storybook characters do. And I dunno, maybe I kind of hoped Millicent would survive, too. Survive her faults.

Oh, as for Pansy's entertainments, Potter and Weasley managed to crash a flying car into the Whomping Willow! Somehow, by the biases of McGonagall and Dumbledore, they lost no points and instead have become some kind of hero instead. (Personally, I think it's fine that they weren't on the train, at least. I just enjoyed myself to the confines of the Slytherin cabin.) However, they were both severely humiliated by Mrs. Weasley's Howler sent the next day, so call that their comeuppance. Apparently Mr. Weasley is facing an inquiry at work, which must be why Father is so busy; he wants revenge for their fistfight.

Well, it does feel better not to be the smallest in the school! New shorty people (also known as first years) have arrived to take our place. This year, going up to the castle, we went into these huge carriages, driven by nothing, instead of Hagrid's boats, also driven by nothing. There were a lot of people, of whom I didn't bother to learn names. About eight of them, I think. They don't seem a very kind lot, but nothing is truly what is seems...

As promised, I have joined the Slytherin Quidditch team! Not only that, my team is the only with all the players riding the same broomstick -the Nimbus 2001, the finest yet, thanks to Father's generous donation.

So, I accidentally said, "Mudblood" aloud to Granger. Father says it all the time, so I didn't really consider it swearing. But they all made a big deal of it, Weasley turning red (he does that a lot -maybe he has bad circulation?) and whipping out his Spellotaped wand (I never realized they were _that_ poor), the Weasley twins (witty, two years older than us) trying to lunge at me, and a girl screamed in shock. Next thing I know, Weasel's broken wand backfires, in the most literal terms: it fires a spell backwards, hitting Weasley instead of me. Which is good, since he immediately started sputtering slugs. I would have retreated, had manners allowed me, but then I realized that this wasn't some prim dinner party and the rest of the Slytherin team was laughing their heads off, and, well, I wasn't really sure what to do, so I laughed with them. I don't know, I was new to the Quidditch team, they're all people I don't know and I really wanted to make a good impression, since what Granger (i. e. Mudblood) said stung me. ("At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in; they got in on pure talent")

I was unsure whether to owl Mother for the Lost Years of Merlin, since Father is completely unaware of the mini-muggle book club comprised of Mother and I. So instead I was considering asking Millicent, since she was reading it earlier. I hope it's less awkward -I don't understand why talking to girls can't be like talking to guys. It would make life so much easier.

What a week,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Did you like? I'm getting kinda tired of finding new Disclaimers though...__ But yay! We are now in book DOS! Isn't it suspicious how busy Lucius Malfoy is? I wonder what he's planning..._

_Gah, this is what happens without an outline... I completely forgot to mention some key things in the last entry! But I fixed it now. :)  
_


	8. II: Expanding Relations

_Disclaimer: Rowling, who happens to have invented Harry Potter, rhymes with bowling.  
_

* * *

September 8, 1992

Dear Journal,

I talked to Millicent in passing after lunch, leaving the Great Hall. I just waited until she was done eating and had left, and then I said I had to finish a little homework and excused myself. I walked, trying to be casual, all the way to the doors, but whenever I feel like it's important to be casual, it suddenly feels really difficult. I think I pulled it off, but I still hope no one thinks I've got a date with her, or something -life is too busy without that kind of junk, with Quidditch practice and harder classes. I do not want to supply fuel for Pansy's express. Anyway, I caught up with her, and I said, "Hey!" trying to be super casual. She looked at me expectantly, but behind it I thought there was a glimmer of fear or something. I just said, "Can I borrow the book you were reading the other day? I waited a few days so you could finish it; it's just that I've been really bored with nothing to read and" I stopped. I felt really stupid and bookwormish. I hope this wouldn't ruin my reputation or something.

For the first time, she spoke, very softly. "I- I don't think you would like this book. The author, um, is a little... addled in the head..." She seemed a bit at a loss for words, if you permit my understatement.

"Oh, don't worry! I know it's" and then I leaned really close to her ear and hissed "a Muggle book." For the first time, I fully appreciated the decor of the corridor leading to the common room -people rarely lingered. Otherwise, our conversation would be tracked and spread across Hogwarts with at least five outrageous variations. Millicent practically collapsed in relief. Well, not really. She has a strong frame. I think maybe I overuse hyperbolas when writing. Well, back to the topic at hand: So I got the book, and Millicent's more comfortable around me. Later today, she said, "I get these books from my dad. He's a muggle, you know" (here she blushed, frowning) To distract her from her embarrassment, I replied, "my mom has a weird fetish for muggle writings." And at that note, we both left the common room and went to bed. (or me, to this little book)

Father's workload is increasing. He says he's "working towards a better future" -he seriously sounds like an advertisement or something. **Hogwarts Board of Governors: working towards a better future**. And then a nice picture of Professor Flitwick teaching Cheering Charms and of a bird's eye-view of the towers of Hogwarts, making sure to include parts of the Forbidden Forest, greenhouses, and Quidditch Pitch.

Maybe I can become an advertisement artist- at least then Father doesn't have to harp on about my grades. I don't know what he's worried about; I passed, right?

Basically, I'm upset at Father. Mother says it's just because I miss him.

I suppose I do love him,

DLM

* * *

October 3, 1992

Dear Journal,

Ugh, I've got this stupid cold. I hope it's rid of soon, I wouldn't want to miss the first Quidditch match! I'm getting better at shaking off Crabbe and Goyle. They don't accompany me to practice ever since they were nearly hit by a bludger that one time, so I can get to know some more people now. Like Marcus and Adrian, for starters. They're a lot different from the other people I know. They're like some kind of scarred crusaders. And that's not a hyperbole; they take themselves really seriously for delivering the Quidditch Cup to their House year after year. I'm not sure how well I'll fit, but at least the new brooms were a bit of an icebreaker. Father still thinks I ought to be better-connected.

Among all of the homework and Quidditch practice, I have barely had a moment to myself to write or read.

Sneeze,

DLM

* * *

October 31, 1992

Dear Journal,

Hallow's Eve, once again... dost thou remember the Muggles with their long pointed hats, green, warty makeup, and containers of candy? Well, their impression of magic was kind of close... except for the skin, and maybe the containers of candy. How obese we might be if that were part of our daily things to don. And do you remember their depictions of ghosts? White bedsheets, with holes cut in them. The holes, I think, were the most realistic part. Father got fed up with the nightly visitors, but he didn't want to get in trouble, he's rather close to the Minister of Magic.

So instead of giving them curses, he gave them all toothbrushes. As soon as the word got around, no Muggle ever dared to knock on our doors again. I don't know, that idea always made him stand out in my mind.

Oh, yes, and I why am I so cheerful? Father's daily owl of sweets was accompanied with a letter that is as below:

_Dear Draco,_

_Your mother's illness has taken a small downturn. I have decided to let work rest and stay home for a while to care for her. I would take her to St. Mungo's but that may lead to some questions that are not meant to be answered, if you understand my gist. I have a freer schedule now, for my endeavors are finally proving successful. Do not let your mother's condition worry you; it is a small thing, and your marks are much more important.  
_

_Keep studying  
_

_Love,_

_Father_

I've always thought it was funny that he signed as Father. Surely he doesn't think of himself that way. I always say "dear Father," but i don't sign as "love, Son." Passing over that, isn't that lovely? Not that she's sick, but that he's back!

Oh, and something strange and exciting is going on! Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris (however, I doubt anyone would actually marry her, perhaps it is just in the Squib's dreams), was petrified! And that isn't all; above, written in blood, is "THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE." For some reason, troublesome threesome (unfortunately not Crabbe, Goyle, and I; no it's Potty, Weasel, and Mudblood). I found it oddly ironic that Granger was standing right in front of it. But more so, I don't know, this queer kind of excitement flushed through me. I knew I was safe, for I had heard of incidents like this from my Father, who, when he's in a reminiscent mood, is really good at ghost stories on Halloween. But it was actually happening, in front of my eyes, so that I was quivering with excitement as my heart sped up and I pushed forward towards a grisly scene that might have, before, given me nightmares. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" I cried into the quiet, warning as well as smiling at the whole thing.

I know it was a horrible occurrence, but it just made me feel more alive, so amazed, and, I don't know. Maybe it's in my blood to feel this way or something. Oh! Blood! I must owl Father back! He told me earlier (reminiscent mood, right?) about the Chamber opening, and a Mudblood dying and such. He probably knows what's going on, or at least he could give me hints as to who it might be...

My face is so flushed it's as if I were drunk,

DLM

* * *

November 7, 1992

Dear Journal,

So much for becoming more popular among Slytherins from Quidditch. I can still hear Marcus' voice ringing incessantly in my ear. And none of the other boys in the locker room even acknowledged my presence. And the worst part was, it was my fault. I have no shield; no defense.

So, anyway, the game we've all been waiting for was today. And I was a little preoccupied with nerves and, I admit it, the prospects of finally beating Potter. I taunted him, calling him "scarhead" (Millicent later told me I should have said "scarface," I'm still not quite clear why) and a ballet dancer and got so carried away with it that I failed to notice, a few inches above my head, the Golden Snitch. Potter was hit with a bludger and _still_ caught the Snitch.

At least Millicent still talks to me,

DLM

* * *

November 9, 1992

Dear Journal,

No, things aren't better. Father, though not at work, is stressed again because Dobby burned Mother's dinner -which includes her medicine- and is missing again. He has no idea where the house elf goes, and, in his own words, "a disobedient house elf is like having no house elf at all!"

Pansy is once again in her element; rumors concerning the Chamber (another muddy was petrified) sweep Hogwarts more effectively than Argus Filch. I once caught Millicent buying a talisman from some strange Ravenclaw, Fawcett, I think. I quickly paid for it, for I know that she isn't very rich. Then I implored her to not waste her money on such rubbish. She, however, was in a very upset mood: "_You_ can say that! You don't have to worry because you're not some filthy half-blood!" Ugh. I bet Pansy or Tracey called her that.

Why do girls bring this on each other,

DLM

* * *

December 7, 1992

Dear Journal,

About everyone in the school is leaving for the holidays because of the whole Slytherin's beast thing. Father's reply came back, and it was a strict denial to reveal anything about the Chamber of Secrets, though he said, "rest assured, everything will be fine". I have a sneaking suspicion that Father might be somehow involved, resulting from the smugness of his handwriting (people have told me that I'm very detail-oriented).

Millicent was sullen for about a week, but bounced back okay with a chance of random moistening of the primary sight organs. I doubt that Tracey (I discovered it was her later, they were both acting very coldly toward each other) ever apologized, and the Slytherin Quidditch team treats me more or less with indifference, like a balance: I lost a game, I gave them broomsticks.

I'm fed up with people. I can't blame Millicent for her mood swing (female teenagers: stab, clean your sword, and watch your victim sob deeply -yes, I blame Tracey indiscriminately) nor can I blame the Quidditch team (burly mean people: expect quality, have a long memory). I don't blame them for human nature (except Tracey). I just am. So I've signed up with Professor Snape to stay here for the holidays, and Vincent and Gregory have opted to as well. I'm actually not upset this time. I need some dull robots to provoke me into liking human presence again. If not, I think I'll end up just hating myself.

Begging for boredom,

DLM

* * *

December 10, 1992

Dear Journal,

Professor Snape's class was particularly interesting, if not painful. Gregory's swelling solution, which was turning out pretty marvelously, exploded; hitting all nearby classmates, which include about all the Slytherins and a few Gryffindors. I am a bit finicky about my appearance, so when my nose swelled to be as large as my head, I was able to notice a problem. The Deflating Draft couldn't have come quick enough. Then the Professor spoke in a low, dangerous voice, holding up a firework that he had found in Greg's cauldron -the obvious cause of the trouble. Some teachers can look everywhere in the room while looking directly at each person individually. Professor Snape employed that device then, and I swear that the entire class swalloed simultaneously and tried to look innocent, even Greg.

Just another day in Slytherin-Gryffindor Potions,

DLM

* * *

December 25, 1992

Dear Journal,

Haven't seen you in a while. Okay, I apologize for losing you. But you're found. Isn't that the important thing?

Let's see, what have you missed... Well, Potter spoke snake at this Dueling Club thing a week ago (Useless -Lockhart taught it. No more information required), so everyone thinks it's him. Personally, I doubt it. He's friends with a mudblood and a blood traitor, how could he be attacking them? Pansy had four short days to spread before being whisked away. Mercifully, they were all gone. Except, of course, for the troublesome threesome and Vince and Greg and a few other random people.

So I'm pretty sure it worked. I now officially crave 3D peoples, and am forever flanked by Vince and Greg, therefore blocked from aforementioned 3D peoples.

But for a strange reason, after a brief chat with them in the quiet and empty common room, they left. And now I've had about four hours to myself. However, I didn't keep to myself. I decided to expand. I needed to accomplish _something_ out of all these attempts! Finally, I found Blaise Zabini. He was cold and disinterested in me, but I could tell he was so bored (like me) with the absence of Teddy that he would endure my presence.

Hopefully I was somewhat interesting. We discussed current school events (i. e. chamber), people (i. e. Potter), and ideas (i. e. evilness, cliques, Death Eaters, et cetera)

Finally feeling friendly,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Father's endeavors are finally proving successful, huh? How interesting. Yes, I know I covered about a third of the year in one swoop, but I did not want the chapter to end, seeing as I feel compelled to put large sections of his life under a heading. And yes, I have given him a few malevolent traits, for I do admit that as he ages, he becomes undeniably compelled by violence and such. By the way, yes, it is a coincidence that Draco writes an entry on the same day that the Chamber first opens (September 8)_

_Did you notice, by the way, that Draco goes out of his way to address all of his professors as "Professor" except for Lockhart?  
_


	9. II: Spring and Winter Wondering

_La denegación: Harry Potter fue escrito por J. K. Rowling, no mí._

_

* * *

_January 4, 1993

Dear Journal,

Everything's back to normal. Well, sort of. Pansy's posse has stopped shunning Millicent, though Millicent hangs around me more now. It's nice talking to her. She has a vicious imagination, and thinks of random nicknames, like "scarface" (that made me laugh after the abysmal game, remember) and "pothead," which has something to do with Muggle drugs.

I'm glad Millicent isn't "sweet". Girls in the house I'm in aren't usually that "sweet". Slytherin is generally less generous or selfless than other houses. There's nothing really wrong with that. The gallantry that other houses admire is a bit foolish. But because of that, we are assumed to be other things. Like cold and cruel. Why do personality traits have to be so bipolar? We don't have to be so clearly defined! Yet, for some reason, we conform to their standards. "Why disillusion them?" like Charles says in Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time.

Slytherins are underrated,

DLM

* * *

February 14, 1993

Dear Journal,

Valentines day usually isn't that bad. Father kisses Mother in the morning and presents her with a lily, which used to freak me out, but that's not that bad. No one except for the higher year students take it seriously.

But this year, Lockhart, the qualified fool, trashed the Great Hall! Well, not exactly trashed, but graffiti-ed it, to say the least. It was all a horrible, bright, eye-popping pink. The teachers all looked quite constipated -who could blame them? They had to share their free time in the staff room with that loon. And apparently, Lockhart cornered some dwarfs (I pity them dearly), painted them pink, and forced them to carry cards and serenade messages to those unfortunate enough to be targeted by one. Does someone suspect Slytherin-ing potential? I certainly did, and hastened to begin my plot.

And Potter, hehe, was one of those unfortunates. He tried to run for it, but instead broke his bag and was held back by his ankles by the dwarf. The dwarf's plaintive love ballad echoed throughout the corridor. It told a stirring tale of an admirable boy who was just out of the reach of this poor, yearning girl. Okay, it wasn't that deep; hey, I'd been working spontaneously. I laughed triumphantly along with all the others; even Potter laughed weakly, until saw a black book on the ground and picked it up, curiosity aroused. I taunted Harry that I would read it, but he disarmed me (one of the two spells we learned in that useless dueling club: Expelliarmus and Serpensortia) and got it back.

Slightly enraged, I still remembered to comment on the valentine to Weaselette (whom I had quickly schemed to frame- after all, her wide eyed crushing practically asked for it!). My ploy succeeded, and both Potter and one of the Weasley clan were utterly humiliated.

Despite that success, I am still a bit upset. And it's not for some petty "win" that Potter may feel that he achieved by disarming me. No, I was frightened by the thought of _this_ journal being stolen. What if someone read this? If they were cruel enough, they might exploit it mercilessly, with all of the things I have written, and all that I have yet to write! They could threaten my father about the Chamber of Secrets, try to get him to spill his knowledge, or take him away to Azkaban. I've placed a few elementary concealment spells, but I doubt they'll hinder a very serious enemy. If only this school taught concealment! If I was going to Durmstrang, like Father had wanted, I would know how to better do such things, but Mother wanted me to stay nearer. There are so many people who could hate me enough to do something, and half of them are smart enough. Imagine what could have happened when I lost you only a month ago. I get all shuddery just thinking about it.

Stay safe,

DLM

* * *

April 1, 1993

Dear Journal,

APRIL FOOLS! I have nothing to write to you. Ha!

APRIL FOOLS again! I actually do have something to say. Millicent lent me the Da Vinci Code, followed by Angels and Demons. Maybe I should use a cipher to protect you.

But even that isn't FOOLproof, right?

DLM

* * *

April 11, 1993

Dear Journal,

My apologies for the waste of paper earlier. I just couldn't help myself. If it makes you feel better, I had fun all day. All of the Slytherins must have imagined me to be rather crazy, but it was quite enjoyable to be happy. (note that I was only cheerful after classes ended, have to keep up my reputation of another boring and slightly irritating Slytherin. No news is good news, in Hogwarts, for good publicity brings bad publicity about in the end. Indirectly, I learned that from Pansy)

Other than paper wasting, it's Easter! More holidays, but a task to keep me busy. Professor Snape gave all of the Slytherins lists of elective subjects to choose for third, fourth, and fifth year. I have a sneaking suspicion that none of the Slytherins will be taking Muggle Studies, so I'm pretty sure that since I don't want to be a lonely participant in that class, I'll just get my information from Millicent. Other than that, I think Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy sound very interesting. I owled Father, but he came back with an absentminded reply that anything would be fine, as long as I do well in my endeavors. He must be busy with Governor stuff- did he take care of that Hippogriff yet?

Happy Easter,

DLM

* * *

May 8, 1993

Dear Journal,

I was quite excited for the Quidditch match today, with Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, so it was a slight downer when it was cancelled. On a related note, Granger and some Ravenclaw prefect mudblood were petrified in another double-attack. They were found somewhere near the library.

One thing I don't quite comprehend is why the beast won't finish anyone off like last time. Wouldn't that be strategically wiser than leaving a trail of petrified people like time bombs?

Well, I'm certainly not one to see into the mind of a murderer, though Milly's muggle mystery novels are extremely intriguing. For them, it's not just traceless murders and using "_Priori Incantatem_" and all that jazz -though Father has told tales of countless framings, so perhaps the Ministry _should_ adopt the techniques of Hercule Poirot. Alas, nothing in those books can shed light on this strange situation Hogwarts finds itself in, no matter how I try to wrap my mind around it.

And I saw Father today. He was looking unusually pleased with himself and embraced me briefly before leaving the castle grounds. Then I went to the Great Hall, where I saw what my father had accomplished: an extremely displeased McGonagall had taken Dumbledore's place in the Headmaster's chair, and the great oaf Hagrid was nowhere to be seen.

This is proof of the uselessness of gamekeepers -no one was even appointed as a substitute,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Draco Malfoy now reads without consulting his diary, I'm afraid. If there happens to be any proof of elective classes that Malfoy chose, mention it in a review (for that is still my plea to thee).  
_

_Husky713: I'm glad you think so, though Draco is personally a bit miffed at the word "cute." :)_

_Wildfire Sniper: Good idea, I'm actually seriously considering that now -oh, the possibilities are endless! And I've been anticipating that slap for a long time. Muahahaha_


	10. II: An Exciting Year

_Widerruf: Ich habe Harry Potter nicht geschrieben. J. K. Rowling hat gemacht._

* * *

May 29, 1993

Dear Journal,

The Chamber of Secrets is going to kill someone. Well, the note said, "her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever," according to Pansy. Honestly, I have no idea where she gets her information. But the first statement must be true, because Professor Snape came to the Slytherin common room (there was a lot of frantic tidying) and told us that Ginny Weasley (weaselette) had been taken into the chamber and we would be leaving on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow.

If the pure blooded aren't safe, then who is? My father told me that I would be fine in that letter he sent five months and 24 days ago.

On another note, the mandrakes are ready for cutting, so the Petrified peoples can reveal what happened to them. Didn't I tell you that they were like time bombs? Though maybe their evidence isn't that good, because the beast petrified tons of people last time and still wasn't caught fifty years ago.

If only we had a competent DADA teacher,

DLM

* * *

June 5, 1993

Dear Journal,

This was a rotten birthday week. Father lost his job! After all the work he's been putting in, especially this year, he's been _sacked_ as school governor. I could hardly show my face this week. What will we do? Mother doesn't work, and now Father is _unemployed_. Even Weasley is in better finances than us... Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. We have enough dough to keep the Manor and all, but the point is, we don't have a steady income, and Father's credit is low. My parents say not to worry, but I don't know.

Milly and Pansy were pretty sympathetic, and even the guys kinda patted me on the back. We didn't quite have the raucous birthday parties of last year. It's like we had put them behind us, too childish, since we were no longer the youngest kids around.

And no, we're not in the summer holidays yet. Turns out Potty and Weasel (Granger petrified, remember?) somehow faced the giant snake *tries to hide Slytherin emblem* and saved the day, also achieving 400 points for Gryffindor and _accidentally_ brainwashed Lockhart. Well, something positive came of the ordeal in the end.

Speaking of Granger petrified, she is no longer that. No one is, since Sunday, the day of Father's loss. The whole school had some crazy partying in the Great Hall all night, during which Dumbledore and Hagrid returned to their respective posts. The atmosphere was very cheering, which only set the stage for the tear-stained blow struck by owl in the morning. Okay, I'll stop my complaining.

When I addressed Milly as "Milly" today, she was surprised, and only drawled, "if only there was an annoying, short nickname for Draco." Well, at least she hasn't discovered "Drakie," "Dray," or "Dear Little Malfoy."

Dobby has disappeared, and this time it's more permanent. I'm not quite clear of the details, but he is definitely gone. I'll have to ask Father when I get home. Home! It sounds so nice and relaxing after all of this craziness.

Hm, at least Father doesn't have to worry about my marks, for exams were canceled.

Second Year was quite exciting,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Sorry the chapter is so short today. Now that both 1st and 2nd year are done with, I'm rewarding myself with a week's break from fanfiction._

_Keep reviewing, for that's where most of my motivation lies. _

_Though it may seem like less by chapter, I assure you that second year was longer than first. See: first-5467, second-5859)_

_Not again! I forgot to change the dates from 1992 to 1993 when the year ended. .  
_


	11. III: Hot Thought

_Refus : Les sept chroniques de Harry Potter ont été conçues et écrites par Joanne K. Rowling._

_

* * *

_July 25, 1993

Dear Journal,

Summer is fine.

You know what's interesting? Those Weasels have won a Wizard lottery and -instead of investing or saving or home improving or anything wise like that- have decided to go on an expensive month vacation in Egypt and then return to their lives in poverty. What a strange world.

The business of my father's job is kind of cleared up. Even with his loss, he still retained a heavy influence in the Ministry, which he reinforced by way of a few donations to St. Mungo's.

He has a lot more free time, however, so he roams around the house doing whatever Mother requests of him. Once I was just reading my book on the dining table when he cried aloud, having burnt himself cooking dinner. There's a lot to do these days, since Dobby is gone and most house elves already have work. Speaking of Dobby, I never really found out what happened to him...

To draw attention away from the burnt digit on his left hand, he pointed, with his spoon, at the book I was reading. Or rather, rereading. "What is that?" he asked.

For a moment I considered saying "a book," but realized that could be flippant. So I said, "a book I'm reading." I then realized how similar that response was, but it was too late to take it back.

Father rolled his eyes at me. I elaborated. "I'm researching for an essay for History of Magic. About Merlin's life." He accepted that and didn't force me to help him cook. However, Mother is much wiser in that matter and made me cook later anyway.

Home EC should be taught at Hogwarts,

DLM

* * *

August 16, 1993

Dear Journal,

Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban a few weeks ago. I asked Father if he had had anything to do with it, and he quickly denied it. Funnily enough, it didn't really seem like he was lying. I pressed on. "Did you know him?" "How on earth would I know him?" he replied, not missing a beat and with a small twitch of his lips. Although he was amused, he was strangely enough still quite sirius. I mean, serious. Whatever.

Father is probably not getting me a firebolt. It would be inconsiderate, in the current circumstances, to request selling our house to pay for a heavenly broomstick.

It would've been amazing,

DLM

* * *

September 1, 1993

Dear Journal,

We also have yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I stayed away from Potter and friends because they were basking in the shabby, snoring protection of the poor professor. I suppose this professor is so poor he will take the cursed jb just to get a bit of salary.

Now, time for a dramatic tale I call Tale of the Tragic Trainride:

The Hogwarts Express darts down the railroad tracks, a silver blur of light and laughter, until it creaks down and stumbles to a dramatic halt. A dark figure approaches the window, and from under its hood takes a long breath of the savory joy emitted from the raucous children occupying the vessel. A certain handsome white-blond boy with pale cheeks feels an iron hand grip his heart and squeeze out the happiness of his life. Suddenly, he feels young and confused as a dark shadow defends. "No, Draco!" his father cries sharply at him... he begins to sob, for he fears no one loves him anymore, but then he discovers something much, much worse... A white, distorted face, as if doused in acid, laughs inhumanly and inhumanely as his cries increase in volume, until they aren't just his cries, but those of someone else, someone he doesn't know very well at all... in a strange flash of underage, uncontrollable wizardry, he descends into the woman's memory... an anguished cry coming from a dying mound of mud... weak stomachs growling at frightened babes... and the same crying, unceasing, from his own fat, flushed throat... after all, it isn't so bad, is it, if his father never loves him... the pain of the pain of others... lost empathy, lost virtue... what is the point of it all? what mark could he leave on the world? not anything good... never anything good... no mark other than a dark, dark one... who would even see it, if there was... why.... why is it so..... it shouldn't be...... The hooded thing approached closer, opening its mouth for an even longer breath, to take in more than happiness, maybe a few lost souls...

And with, that, I ran from the dementor wildly into a nearby cabin, which was unfortunately occupied by Identical Weasels. To hide my confusion, I just scurried out again, hoping they didn't see my face. In the hallway, I was torn. Finally, I decided to head by the new professor's compartment, where I witnessed the dementor YET CLOSER and Potter out on the floor (soulless? Dare I hope?) and Weasel, Weaselette, Longbottom, and Granger looking as though they were drowning. The new professor had woken up, but that was all I could gather before I bolted back to the Slytherin end.

No one really cared where I had gone (passing over Pansy, of course); they were all trying desperately to regain their stability and breath. I had never even realized I had such a memory of horrifying proportions... I must have been only a few months of age at that time, and the dementor showed it with such terrific clarity. When the blurry memory passed, I half-blocked it out and groped for the door (and ran out). That was really cool -blocking it out. It was so random and instinctive and didn't even work, but the idea amazed me and lightened my spirits enough to get out of there.

Other than that, weather isn't aware that summer's over,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Ah, a restful week. Well, here you have it, a few nice summer entries. Draco, instead of making glass disappear and growing back his hair, used Legilimency on a muggle being tortured. AND he randomly found a moment of peace by using Occlumency on the dementor. By the way, no, occlumency does not resist against the power of a dementor. It can dull the effect (or at least, that's how I'll use it) only; I stand by that laughter is the real cure. _

_Husky713: I'm giving him all my favorites, so I'm glad you enjoy them too! Great readers... er... read alike?_

_StrawberryGreen: My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle. At least I'm back now!_


	12. III: Fallout

_Disclaimer: All disclaimers that are in languages other than English are prone to having errors in them. I'm no where near fluent in anything other than English, so plase notify if there is anything wrong.  
_

_Any views expressed in this story are not necessarily the views of the author (me). I do not encourage the ideas, and are quite opposed to, prejudices regarding poverty, mental illness, bloodlines, race, views, etcetera. _

_And did I mention- J. K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter!  
_

* * *

September 2, 1993

Dear Journal,

Arithmancy classes were the first classes this year, and they were marvelous. It was all about numbers and logic. We got several charts about how numbers appear in the world, both magical and muggle. Like how seven is the _most powerfully magical number_! and about the number of petals on eudicot and monocot flowers, and PI, and PHI, and -it's all just endlessly astounding. Our assignment is to list all of the numbers we encounter during our average day. Starting with the date, 9-2. Then with the amount we eat for breakfast. The number of owls that are recieved. And the letters of the classes we have. It is such an intensely intriguing idea. Like in the Seven Songs of Merlin, which Milly lent me for the week of hospital wingness along with the Da Vinci Code, _everything is connected to everything else_.

I'm still caught between being glad and sad about choosing Care of Magical Creatures as one of my electives. The _gamekeeper _is teaching us! Goodness, this place, as I told Pansy, is going to the dogs.

So today was our first lesson, and I zoned out quite easily -he had a terribly thick accent that wasn't the easiest to listen to, and I was wondering if I should begin, again, to employ those... ah, what was the term? Interesting exploits! Yes, that would be fun.

Professor Hagrid had brought out these enormous beasts with the front end of an eagle and the back end of a horse. He said they were hippogriffs. Potter was the first one to go, and he got on the back of Buckbeak (a hippogriff) and rode around the paddock before landing again. Quickly, the class started approaching them. I was provided with Buckbeak and bowed without blinking. Buckbeak bowed to me as it had to Potter, and I was rather relieved that it was so simple. In my relaxation of caution, an insult slipped my tongue, and before I knew it, the vile creature attacked me. I was convinced that I was scalped or killed, and I was bleeding terribly, and my arm in particular throbbed horribly. I was rushed to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey sent me to a bed immediately.

I am slightly exaggerating the effects for the entertainment of Parkinson, for she loves excitement and drama quite too much. Meanwhile, I've finally gotten Father to tell me a little about Black, though he still vouches for never having met him. Apparently he was protecting the Potters from Voldemort, but then he told Voldemort where they are and Voldemort went to the Potters' place and killed the parents and "died" when he tried to kill baby Potty. Black was then confronted by Pettigrew, a friend of the Potters. But Black just killed him along with thirteen muggles -with one curse! What I don't get is why that spell isn't a "Supreme Unforgivable" since it's Avada Kadavra fourteen times over.

Gotta go before Pansy catches me using my "useless" arm,

DLM

* * *

September 9, 1993

Dear Journal,

I'm terribly behind in all of my studies. A whole week in the wing! I have an Arithmancy essay analyzing the importance of the numbers I listed last week, plus learning the new potions, and- and everything else. Father, who always holds my grades in a position of highest importance, is seething in outrage. I have a good feeling that Hagrid might be sacked. Understanding is somewhat dawning on me with this whole influence business. By advising Cornelius Fudge and the Hogwarts Board of School Governors, it is as if he were working in both jobs. Perhaps unemployment is not so bad. We have by far enough gold to hold us for several centuries and Father can do more in less time as a completely free agent.

I feel completely better now that my week of convalescence is over. But this is not a fact I am going to let on. After all, Pansy's attentions are rather pleasant, so I am going about the facade of a very injured person. Vince and Greg, somehow sensing that Milly was a friend of mine, have decided to stay around her too. I have a feeling that Vince is rather taken with her, which is slightly disturbing. Although I have passed the "cooties" stage, this is still beyond me. While Pansy was crooning over my injury, I winked reassuringly at Milly, to get her to understand that I was actually okay. Sensing my plan, Milly just rolled her eyes in response as I demanded Weasel chop my daisy roots for me, and then Potty to skin my shrivelfig.

The class ended nicely with Professor Snape trying to feed Longbottom's shrinking solution to his toad. The toad, instead of croaking like a messed up potion would usually cause, shrunk perfectly into a small tadpole. Professor Snape was upset and took five points from Gryffindor just for the heck of it.

There's nothing like potions to cheer you from a week out,

DLM

* * *

October 31, 1993

Dear Journal,

It's Hallow's Eve, once again, and I am always reminded of toothbrushes.

We had our first Hogsmeade visit today. It was quite nice and refreshing, though I still wonder at how the we keep an entire community clear of muggles, and more importantly, how the other wizarding communities keep themselves clear of muggles. Well, I bought some nice, long, hooded capes that I thought looked nice. It made me feel silly, buying such a costume, but I reasoned that perhaps it would make a useful gift for some small cousin Father might discover. Plus I liked the color. It was jet-black, like you could get lost in it but still appreciate the warm mysteries it held. It also shimmered lightly, like magic.

Well duh. It _was_ magic. That was stupid of me to write. Perhaps I read too many muggle books, eh?

We bought lots of sweets from Honeydukes, interesting anomalies from Zonko's, raced to the Shrieking Shack and back (Blaise won), and sipped warming butter beer.

The feast was quite fine, and Professor Snape was fuming silently when Dumbledore produced a vulture topped hat (while I was winging away, there was a boggart lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Longbottom feared Prof. Snape and _Riddikulus_ placed the Professor in his gram's clothing. By the way, the Slytherin class of '97, as well as '93, '94, '95, '96, '98, and '99, disapproves heartily of Professor Lupin due to his ragged, poor, and common appearance. Poverty is not a quality trait, as it often indicates bad blood, laziness, mental illnesses, or other strange issues unknown).

So we all went happily to bed.

The end.

But wait! How can I be writing if I am sleeping?

No, I am not so addicted to journal-ing that I record in my sleep -that could have many disastrous results. It turns out that Sirius Black _somehow_ got into the castle (what are these dementors for? Really!) and attacked a painting that happens to have guarded the shh! entrance to the Gryffindor tower. I never realized that paintings could even _be _attacked. Well, everyone gets to sleep in the great hall on squashy purple sleeping bags while the teachers do a very thorough search of the grounds. I kept this book with me, however, for I didn't want the teachers finding this.

Perhaps I should write in illegible backwards handwriting like Da Vinci,

DLM

* * *

November 6, 1993

Dear Journal,

Professor Lupin has been taken ill. Meanwhile, Professor Snape has assigned the Slytherins an essay on werewolves that has to be three fourths of a roll of parchment while he was substituting for Professor Lupin. I think he told us to do it so we would discover that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. Oh dear, was I supposed to know that? I suppose there are benefits to finishing homework early, and isn't too bad Lupin missed a beautiful moon last night?

Flint has decided to derive some usefulness from me, by bribing me with the notion of becoming popular among the team. The first thing, nothing quite too bad, is to change the game today from Gryffindor vs. Slytherin to Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. After all, it'll leave both teams unprepared and save us from ruining our chances by playing in this abominable weather.

And can you believe this- Potter had his first lost game! The Dementors came out on to the pitch, and Potter fainted, falling right off his broom, which then flew into the Whomping Willow in an act of suicide. Potter somehow survived, which isn't _that_ bad, I guess.

Flint had a funny look in his eye after seeing those dementors,

DLM

* * *

November 27, 1993

Dear Journal,

Two games in one month! The miracles! It's -okay, I won't say magic.

Here the Slytherins root for Ravenclaw, though it can certainly be said that Ravenclaws never root for Slytherin. And they absolutely _flattened_ Hufflepuff, even in the slight hazy rain.

The Ravenclaw chasers were doing quite well indeed, and they had an impressive lead before Cho Chang beat Cedric Diggory to the snitch. It was a nice treat after a long term.

But neither seeker can beat the powerful seeking of the great, the magnificent, the one and only,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: I saw Half-Blood Prince on Sunday/Monday! It was an absolutely exquisite representation of the book-the best of all the previous films. I must have been the worst audience member (luckily not many people watch movies at 9:50 PM-12:35 AM); I giggled for half the movie and whimpered for the rest. Whenever I saw Draco (Tom Felton) or Severus (Alan Rickman) I was so moved; every time Snape looked at Harry I could tell that he was upset because of Lily and because he was never to receive, in the course of his short life, the recognition and happiness he deserved; and every time Draco spoke his voice, it betrayed his bravery and I knew his fear, his agony; every look on Draco's face as he beheld his task made me cringe. I had to clutch the arm of the person next to me at the "Sectumsempra" scene, and I audibly gasped and jumped when the Inferi grasped Harry's arm, even though I knew, had been waiting for, those very two moments. It was beautiful, a masterpiece of unimaginable magnificence. I recommend it to all that have it in their means to see it! So, I can only hope that my Draco can live up to the nervous wreck he ought to be when I reach the sixth novel... and I can hardly believe that I even dare to try to somehow catch a portion of this character in my muggle creation.  
_

_But one must try, and that I'll do, to the very end. __(Post Script of my very silly speech: Though I do think the whole apple and birds scene, though not in the book, is something I might want to include anyways)_

_Oh, and PHI is absolutely amazing. And if you want to be blessed by the amazingness of PHI, please review._

_And finally, I need chapter title ideas. I'm starting to enjoy the idea of season-themed titles, which have the capacity to become increasingly tedious. Help!  
_


	13. III: Pets and Pests

_Disclaimer: Joanne Rowling is a writer famed for conjuring the universe of Harry Potter. _

_Draco Malfoy was one of her characters. I, the author, refuse to be held responsible for any offense you may take by his currently immature ideas._

_

* * *

_

December 11, 1993

Dear Journal,

I decided (on Monday) to go home for the holidays. I didn't think that any of the Slytherins are staying this time around. I was speculating with Daphne about Black, seeing as Father knew him not and neither did other parents. Interrupting our conversation, a little first year walked in without a glance to any of the other third years around and said without preamble, "Daph, mum said to start packing for the train the weekend before, but all you're doing is lazing around with your friends!"

Daphne, amused, just ruffled her sister's dark hair and said, "I'll get to it, Terri! Go away, I'm in the middle of something" before giving her a little hug and sending her off. The first year growled about her hair being messed up before fleeing the room.

Feeling embarrassed about my ignorance, I asked, "You have a sister?"

She sighed something that seemed suspiciously noting on the intelligence of boys before replying, "Where have you been for the last two and a half years? That was Asteria, my eleven year old private pest." I murmured meek acceptance of the fact while noting that Daphne's hair was the same composition of waviness, but a shade lighter.

"Surely she isn't _that_ bad," I attempted, trying to imagine having an annoying younger sibling in the Manor and failing.

Maybe it would have been nice,

DLM

* * *

December 18, 1993

Dear Journal,

A Hogsmeade weekend is the perfect way to finish up the term before whisking away for the holidays.

Only a week until Christmas, so I did a little shopping. I got Mother and Father some nice items, and I purchased Pansy a dark green blouse. I wasn't quite sure what to get Milly. Crabbe would probably listen to me if I told him to confess his feelings to her, but when she found out that was my gift to her, she'd probably decide that Crabbe wasn't genuine, making me appear very cruel. Getting a book would be silly, though appropriate since she lends me muggle books all the time. The problem is I don't know where to get that kind of stuff, and I very well can't walk into a muggle bookstore and buy a book for twelve sickles.

Since I couldn't shop for gifts for her, I shopped for gifts _with_ her. We also included Daphne in our little spree. She led us to the small pet accessory store to get Asteria a large bow for her toad. Why anyone would _want_ to put a bow on their toad -nevermind that, this inspired me to even buy some fish for Eric the Eccentric Eagle Owl to eat. (What? I named him when I was six after reading one of those kid books that include a bunch of random goblins and a wise witch)

At that point, we laughed a bit about that, and started wondering what we might get obscure relatives presents, if we had to. This made me think about Sirius Black. What could I possibly give such an "uncle"?

For some reason, a lot of teachers were in the Three Broomsticks today, so I steered clear of them (vacation has officially started! What business have I to mingle with teachers?) and instead we enjoyed our drinks in the Hog's Head. The barman is exceedingly tall, and has very sharp blue eyes. I don't think he likes me, but his butterbeer is well enough and so I tipped him generously.

If wizards traded with muggle products, do you think they could make a profit?

DLM

* * *

December 25, 1993

Dear Journal,

Guess what I got for Millicent -a basket of a whole assortment of crazy things. Earrings and scarves and books and nice pens and apples. I charmed everything so they were all Slytherin colored. Except for the green apples. I wrapped silver tinsel like snakes around them instead. Oh yes, and the basket was Milly's favorite color- a hideous, eye-popping, seizure-inducing orange. To emphasize the effect, I shrunk several oranges and trimmed the outside. Then I sent Eric off with the outrageous bundle, setting the people below off into strange fits of laughter and hysteria by that _color_! Milly certainly has interesting taste. Oh, and finally- I got her a nice, pure white collar for her black cat, Polly. I thought the contrast might look nice, and Milly had been complaining earlier about how her orange collar frightened people.

Happy Third Christmas,

DLM

* * *

January 3, 1994

Dear Journal,

Alas, vacation just couldn't last forever. It never can.

But you know what's funny? It's not that bad, going to school. It's fun, in an odd way, to have things to do.

New term, new things to learn. Mercifully, over break, the flobberworms died, so we could start something new in Care of Magical Creatures- bonfires with salamanders. I can only hope that Eric doesn't try to eat them; he could get burnt.

Milly, by the way, was extremely pleased by her gift. Apparently, that wasn't the only surprising gift she received. Apparently Vince wrote her a card, and she turns uncharacteristically pink whenever she thinks of it. Honestly, disgusting! Though at least the shade is not as torturing as her orange.

To a Happy New Year without midnight snogging,

DLM

* * *

_A/N:Substantially shorter than the last one, but with a few significant developments which I, of course, __the overproud author,__ must point out here. Draco meets his future wife and deems her unconsciously as eccentric as his Eagle owl Eric. He is also quite revolted by the ideas of romance and snogging, while the others in his grade are starting to get involved in such matters. Well, not snogging. But still! It is just making me happy. :)  
_

_Your Undoing- Your flattery really touches me, and I'm glad you find Draco relatable and witty, for it shows that I am fulfilling my goals so far in my writing.  
_


	14. III: Victorious! and Not

_Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter with no intent to offend anybody. I come here with a similar intention._

_

* * *

_January 15, 1994

Dear Journal,

YES! Finally, I am worth something more than a barrel of my old man's Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones.

I had my first Quidditch win. We were losing by about 140 points for some strange reason, but then I caught the Snitch! I beat Cho Chang to it! Even Eric was ecstatic when I brought him the gushing letter for Father to read with pride.

We were neck to neck when a bludger -who knows who sent it- shot right between us. She dodged upward but I went down and kept chasing the Snitch, not breaking my rhythm as she had. Before she could approach me again, I had the little fluttering ball in my hand. The Slytherin end, which had been viewing the game quite morosely, erupted into raucous noise, while the Ravenclaws just sat with dropped jaws, so disbelieving they were.

Though I still have not beaten the Harry Potter -he who has lost naught but one match- I am actual competition. Last year, mudblood Granger had the gall to imply that all I have is gold and no skill. Finally, she is proven quite wrong.

As I said before in some random dash of joking hubris,

The one, the only,

DLM

* * *

January 16, 1994

Dear Journal,

Captain Flint called me over today. He said he was impressed by the game, and I felt giddy delight. Then he continued, asking if I was "game to a little unorthodox strategy." I had a pretty good idea that this would match the ideas of my "interesting exploits" from the beginning of first year. Figuring that after eight years his plan would be wiser than my first year, I agreed to his terms.

Then he asked if I still had those cloaks that I had gotten from the first Hogsmeade of the year.

Hoping this is good,

DLM

* * *

February 5, 1994

Dear Journal,

Marcus is stupid. Or maybe I am, for believing his plan could work. He had been held back once, for goodness sakes. That should have been warning enough! But no, I just had to believe that it was going to work fine, ignoring all of the disastrous signs. Is it possible that I haven't changed since first year?

Here was the extent of his plan: put on cloaks, go onto field when seekers are chasing Snitch.

Then Potter would faint and the game would be in the bag for the Ravenclaws.

It was such a simple plan that it was horrible. The imbecile.

No wonder we were down by 140 points last month, before I caught the Snitch.

Basically, we go out there and Potter, completely unfazed by GLITCH NUMBER ONE: WE DON'T SUCK HAPPINESS LIKE DEMENTORS DO. Then he retaliates with his wand by GLITCH NUMBER TWO: POTTER HAS BEEN KNOWN TO BE PREPARING HIMSELF AGAINST DEMENTORS. Then me and Greg, on top of eachother because of GLITCH NUMBER THREE: WE WERE SHORT ONE CLOAK, GLITCH NUMBER FOUR: WE HAVE NO BALANCE. Finally, GLITCH NUMBER FIVE: WE HAVE NO ESCAPE PLAN, which is important because GLITCH NUMBER SIX: WE ARE COMPLETELY EXPOSED, which is bad because GLITCH NUMBER SEVEN: PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL IS NOT BLIND and GLITCH NUMBER EIGHT: SHE ALREADY DOESN'T LIKE ME and plus GLITCH NUMBER NINE: SHE DOESN'T LIKE SLYTHERINS IN GENERAL TOO MUCH EITHER. Then, GLITCH NUMBER TEN: PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL, WHOM WE HAVE ALREADY VERIFIED HAS FULL USE OF EYESIGHT, CAN ALSO DOCK POINTS which could only increase the glee of GLITCH ELEVEN: THE ENTIRE GRYFFINDOR AND RAVENCLAW QUIDDITCH TEAMS WALK PAST US when GLITCH TWELVE: SOFT BLACK HOODED CLOAKS ARE VERY DIFFICULT TO RELEASE ONESELF FROM, thus resulting in GLITCH THIRTEEN: I DESPISE MARCUS FLINT.

SEE? IT'S THIRTEEN! IT WAS DESTINED TO BE UNLUCKY! BASIC ARITHMANCY AND DIVINATION, I MEAN **REALLY**!

Phew! Ranting on paper is almost as satisfying as ranting in person to Professor McGonagall, Marcus, Crabbe, Milly, and Pansy in quick succession. Marcus, Crabbe, Milly, and Pansy subsequently left me alone to fume, while Professor McGonagall talked sharply to me about disrespect.

Trying to lower my blood pressure,

DLM

* * *

February 6, 1994

Dear Journal,

Imagine all of the Slytherins curled up in bed with their stuffed teddy bear and thumb in their mouth. Now, subtract all of the stuff I just mentioned except for the snoozing Slytherins and add a bloodcurdling shriek.

Everyone bolted upright, us Slytherins being typically light sleepers. The scream continues: "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Then, our keen ears pick up less urgent yells but very very loud shouts still, from that selfsame voice: "Black!" Everyone became very, very still. "Sirius Black! With a knife!"

Suddenly, the common room filled with noise as everyone introduced their questions, their fears, their theories to one another. Yawning, I glanced around, saw Teddy and Blaise conspiring very closely with one another and Greg and Vince yawning together, and decided to write in my journal, namely, you.

I have school -tomor- today, so goodnight,

DLM

* * *

Dear Journal,

Here I am, with Pansy's excellent results, which, she reports, were her easiest finds yet. Apparently Weasley tells everyone who passes.

So Weasley is snoring away in secondhand pajamas when he hears a ripping sound in his dream. Suddenly chilled by the draft rolling in, he lazily opened one eye, to see the horrific sight of a mangy, grimy, and very this Sirius Black staring malevolently at him. The boy screams, and changes to NOOOO when he notices the footlong knife wielded in Black's right hand. Black suddenly disappears, and by the time everyone wakes up, he is long gone.

Now, Pansy confides, it gets more difficult. Apparently Neville Longbottom, who was called "abysmally foolish" by Professor McGonagall (now he knows how I feel) and forbidden to know passwords and go on Hogsmeade trips by same teacher, had apparently been recording passwords on a sheet of paper for he kept forgetting them. Then he forgot where he put the paper. Suddenly he finds himself in a all-too familiar quandary -shame, by the Gryffindor Head of House. Really, this is the second time in three years! (dragon thing, remember?)

That, my journal, is why memory is a virtue.

Or at least it should be,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Just so you know, when I say -word- that indicates that Draco has crossed out "word." I have only used that device twice thus so far (-di- and -tomor-), but it amuses me that he makes neat little cross outs, since they use quills and not pencils or computers.  
_

_And kudos to those who noticed that I named Millicent's cat Polly, whose hair Hermione accidently put in her POLYjuice potion with disastrous results. Hey, anyone want to recommend my next non-English language for the Disclaimer? (I told you people I was getting bored with them!)  
_

_And to my reviewers [scowl at silent readers again]:  
_

_mjmusiclover: Strangely enough, I haven't read one either. Maybe they don't exist... *creepy Twilight Zone music suddenly arises* Oh yes, and thank you thank you for the "this is amazing" twice!  
_

_Strawberry Green: You are too nice! And I'm glad Eric pleases you. You know, Draco does have an Eagle Owl, I just named him. After all, who but Eric the Eccentric would need a daily package of sweets at breakfast?  
_


	15. III: Suddenly Hotter

_Disclaimer: Nothing has changed since the last chapter. Therefore, previous disclaimers retain validity during the course of this story._

* * *

February 12, 1994

Dear Journal,

Father owled to tell me that although Hagrid is indispensable, the hippogriff who clawed me is not. He is still quite furious about my grades, and I am just cheerful because it is just like Father's old job, so again, more proof that nothing has really changed. The hearing was yesterday, so I expect to hear about the results soon, which are probably bad for Buckbeak's health.

A very welcome Hogmeade weekend has arrived. One of the reasons of the very welcomeness is that a certain Harry Potter is not allowed there due to inability to obtain permission from deceased mum and dad, allowing a kind of blanketed peace to blissfully permeate the air.

So imagine how perturbed I was when, wandering near the Shrieking Shack with Greg and Vince as a result of a dare for a few moments, I saw Weasel leaning, showing off his lanky height quite well, though no ladies were around to admire. So I took the opportunity of taunting him, though I wondered why he would be so alone and exposed. Something seemed to keep him from lunging at me for a second time, but before I could ponder that, a large blob of mud, icky, mucky, horrific mud landed on my fresh, light, happy head of hair.

Trying vainly to get that abominable substance away from my hair, I peripherally witnessed Ron commented airily about the evil spirits pervading the Shrieking Shack. I thought something seemed fishy, but I had just been attacked by an invisible force, and ghosts do exist, so I was ready for all. Scanning the surroudings frantically, I narrowly dodged the next missile, which almost gouged out Greg's eyes. Vince, trying desperately to maintain his dry status, began to lumber away, but was hit by a stick. It was kind of funny, this ghost seemed awfully fond of lobbing things at us with its impeccable aim.

Vince decided then to attack the only safe person in the vicinity- the laughing Weasley. In a strange sequence of reason and sense I seemed to have missed, Vince dived into the snow quite far from his destination, and a head appeared midair.

Now, if the pattern of the last three years can be followed, nothing truly odd and upsetting can really occur without the head of Harry Potter that bears the small lightning scar.

At this point, wondering wildly if that he had died to become a ghost to sneak into Hogsmeade was more probable than the evil ghost throwing Potter's head out of the castle among all the other thrown stuff at us, I ran for Professor Snape.

My conscience tried to bite me with pity as Professor Snape's deep, black eyes gleamed darkly, but mud dripped on my shoulder and I suddenly felt fine.

Thank goodness there was an available shower,

DLM

* * *

February 14, 1994

Dear Journal,

Potter went free somehow. Without a point less from Gryffindor. I hate how they get away with these things.

Happy Valentine's Day. Vince pecked Milly on the cheek. It was very sick.

Are we turning into Hufflepuffs?

DLM

* * *

April 1, 1994

Dear Journal,

Today was a day I more than ever felt that someone, anyone, Professor Dumbledore or Professor Snape or long gone Dobby (I still haven't got the faintest idea what happened to him) or Hermione Mudblood Granger to pop out and screech APRIL FOOLSSS!

Well, today I was eavesdropping on Hagrid and troublesome threesome (what? they were talking quite loudly) near the school entrance. And I made some degrading comments about his state -I mean, why does he insist on crying so _loudly_? It's like begging for attention. I mean, he should show some pride and cry privately like me. But, of course, I don't cry.

Yeah, so... And then the troublesome threesome heard me, and for a second I had a feeling that I was going to be socked once again by redhead, this time accompanied by four-eyes (Milly again). But then, well, they were distracted. And I was, too.

This is embarrassing. Even writing it down. Although Vince and Greg were witnesses, I haven't actually told anyone yet. I thought maybe writing in here would ease myself into it.

Okay... I was _slapped_. By a girl. Yes, that girl. Hermione "Mione" Granger. Slapped very hard. And very vindictively. And it hurt. Externally and internally. A whole lot.

That has to be a record of consecutive three word phrases. Wow. Well. Um. Ha, just like Liz's last words in Elsewhere, um.

But back to the issue at hand: the hand. That hit me very hard and belonged to a girl.

Am I such a horrible, messed up, repugnant, foul, and altogether suppurating character that a meek, bookwormish female not only wants to hit me but does? Okay, I might have been a bit mean about the whole Buckbeak incident, but is it more? I hate Potter. Bad first impression. I hate Weasley. By principle of the family I'm from. But Granger? I mean, I called her "Mudblood" once, but she had just hit me in a very sore spot... Do girls have such long memories? And... she's stressed. I think. She has bags under her eyes, at the very least.

I mean, it's really weird. To be slapped. Not everyone is slapped. It's not like a part of growing up. I feel like it signifies me as something exceptionally terrible. That's really hard to deal with; it's like the dementor all over again. _To amount to nothing... or nothing good._

For a second I considered owling Father and asking if he's ever been slapped, but I decided to not extremely quickly. I just had to cover my burning cheek and walk, dignified, to the dungeons to temporarily compose myself in order to finish the classes of the day.

And though it seems crazy, that wasn't the worst part.

As red as my cheek was the heart in my chest that beat oddly quicker whenever she graced me a passing glare in the halls... I tried to keep my head faced away when she laughs at something Weasel or Potty has said, her bushy hair bouncing eagerly, eager the way she does anything... and I couldn't help staring when she strode past the afternoon Slytherin-Ravenclaw Charms class, her eyes burning as they had when her soft warm hand made sharp contact with my skin... when I went to the library, the blood in my veins ran backwards, for it was she who was almost buried under textbooks, almost except for the busy (and powerful) hand scurrying across endless parchment and those soft, brown, passionate eyes and thin round nose and lips pink from nervous biting...

Holy mane of Merlin's mother's only son, what am I doing?! However backwards my blood is, _hers_ is irreconcilable. Right? Oh no, I can't start having doubts now...

AUGH!!!

I. _hate._ puberty,

DLM

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Muahaha I love this... Sorry I haven't updated in a few days, I went into a small state of un-motivation. But this has been my small scheme almost since the beginning, though I hadn't realize that Draco wouldn't be fourteen when I mentioned "a little something" at fourteen to anonymous reviewer Horrid Panoramas. Speaking of earlier mentionings of this, I also said to Wildfire Sniper that I was anticipating this. _

_My lovely, amazing, spectacular reviewers:_

_mjmusiclover: I rock! YES! *does the funky chicken* hehe, and thanks for two loves for this fanfic. _

_Your Undoing: A review! Squee!!! Yes, I am definitely doing DH, but he doesn't actually leave Hogwarts in his Seventh Year. He's at the manor when the Snatchers catch Ron, Harry, and Hermy because it's Easter holidays, and he's at school during the Battle of Hogwarts._

_Wildfire Sniper: Request accepted. New chapter updated. Enjoy.  
_


	16. III: East her Holidays

Περιορισμοί_: Joanne Kathleen Rowling _κατέχει_ Harry Potter _και όλοι ότι έρχεται με αυτό.

_If the above doesn't actually make sense, then try to guess my meaning and, if you can, tell me what it's supposed to be. This applies to all of the disclaimers._

* * *

April 4, 1994

Dear Journal,

My condition hasn't improved. I didn't tell anyone at first, but Pansy and Milly are not to be fooled. Finally, I confessed my feelings to them.

No, I didn't tell them. I'm not that stupid! Consider that an April Fool's joke.

I was being sulky and the male Slytherins accepted my excuse that the mountainous homework that the teachers had assigned for Easter. However, the girls are not to be swayed. They descended like locusts to my chair in front of the emerald fire. Pansy wheeled a chair right in front of me and patted my knee as Milly came around my left side. "What's wrong?"

I rolled my eyes before mumbling stupidly, "Nothing." Milly and Pansy exchanged knowing glances. I hate when they do that.

"You can tell _us_," Milly said. I simply shot her a withering look. Since when have you been with Pansy on anything?

"Hm..." they looked at one another again. I was starting to feel uneasy. What could they be-

"Is it your hair?" I started to reply boredly, but then

"Is it the mud? If you want, we'll beat Potty up for you." Somehow, Milly can make this sentiment seem endearing.

"Is it your cheek?" Pansy patted said cheek.

"Is it a tanline?" um... wait, what?

"Is it the Quidditch game?" Oh, thanks for mentioning that, I had actually forgotten to stress about that for a few days.

"Is it a professor?"

"Is it homework?" I started to nod eagerly but

"Of course it's not! He told everyone it was, so it can't be!"

"Right, sorry"

"Is it a girl?"

I suddenly took a quick breath, which I prayed they hadn't noticed.

"Milly, you're a genius!"

"Being a genius, I already know that!"

I tried to somehow sneak away from the girls, hoping they were so intoxicated with success they wouldn't notice, but

"Who is it?"

"You can tell us!"

"We won't tell anyone!"

I kept my mouth firmly sealed.

"Is it Tracey?"

"Is it Daphne?"

"Is it _me_?" I rolled my eyes.

"Pansy, he wouldn't tell us if it was!" then Milly leaned closer and whispered "is it?" I snorted derisively.

"Is it Lovegood?"

"Why would he like Loony?"

"I don't know! Some guys think her complete unawareness of self is hot!"

"Not our guy!" Hey, since when did they own me? I tried another bid for freedom.

"Hmm," they sighed, finally tired of this. "We'll get it out of you somehow. Aw, think of little Drakie actually having a crush!"

I finally made it away from the lunatics, distracted by their own "aw"ing. Oh god. Now I have to avoid Milly and Pansy. Maybe I should go to the library to try finishing all that homework.

And _she_ might be there,

DLM

* * *

April 5, 1994

Dear Journal,

Yeah, she was there. So I spent the entire time at a ninety-degree angle from the back of her head. I got some homework done, at least.

While I was making my exit, I accidentally knocked a book off of her stacks. It had been precariously teetering on the edge, and made an extremely loud and out of place sound. Madam Vulture, I mean Pince, glared daggers at me as I hastily replaced it and dashed out of the library.

Granger, it can be noted, noticed nothing of this entire exchange. Or she had noticed everything and was full of disdain and was blatantly ignoring me because she considers me a very pitiful suitor.

No, no, I'm not that obvious. She just was very absorbed in her work, and didn't notice anything. Right.

Maybe I should _avoid_ the library,

DLM

* * *

April 6, 1994

Dear Journal,

So much for that idea.

What is I_ wrong_ with me? It's not like I _like_ her. Pansy and Milly are just overexcited as always. Right? Right. Why do I say right all the time now? It's stupid. Like trying to reassure myself that I don't need reassurance. That's stupid, right?

Uh, if I die early, what if "right?" is my last word? Like Liz's um. I should tell Milly to not give me books with the kids dying in the beginning. They make me think too much about completely inconsequential things.

I very much convinced myself I needed to do homework. Because I do. And half the Slytherins think that was bothering me before anyway. So I went. I kind of sat in he corner farthest from Granger's back as possible. And put my books on the table.

Silence.

Yes, its a library, but the silence seemed so awkward. Like I should say something. I cleared my throat. I saw the Mudblood start at the noise, and felt warm inside that she had noticed me. Well, not _recognize_ me; that would have been disastrous, considering that I was acting like an idiot. But it made me happy that I had been able to even cause her a little irritated. Which is so pathetic since I don't even like this girl, I mean, Mudblood.

Needless to say, I got out of there in a desperate attempt to retain my small portion of sanity,

DLM

* * *

April 7, 1994

Dear Journal,

Okay, you know what? I can't spend my time worrying if a Mudblood I don't like knows that I, uh, _something_ her. I have Quidditch to worry about. Quidditch against the Gryffindors. Potter and his _Firebolt_, the international standard broom that the professionals use, not to mention Potter is pretty good at Quidditch besides. For the Cup. Weasel and _Granger_ and the whole rest of the Gryffindors are going to be rooting for them and I have got to show her, I mean, them, that I can beat him even though he's got a better broom, because I am a better Seeker!

Oh no, that sounds like what _she_ said last year, with the meaning reversed, right before I insulted her and forever crippled our chances -AT NOTHING. BECAUSE I DO NOT LIKE HER. HA!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

We are captained by idiot Flint!

DLM

* * *

April 8, 1994

Dear Journal,

Milly and Pansy are still searching for my soul mate/crush/liked/it/whatever. Right now, they have a hunch that I like a seventh year. Seriously, I did not lead them there on purpose.

Pansy was rambling off the names of some first years while Milly was watching me carefully for any reaction, until I interrupted her, like so:

"Asteria a.k.a. Te-"

"Why would I like a first-year? They're, like, babies!" Granger is always so mature, but yet she retains a light vitality (slaaap!) and sense of humor, even with all the stress she has...

"So you like _older_ women, Draco?" and then it was like a lightbulb switching on for them. Now they think I either like a fourth-year, fifth-year, sixth-year, seventh-year, teacher (ew), or Asteria Greengrass. Which basically means I'm safe from them figuring out my actual non-crush.

I don't know when those two bonded, but I have a feeling it is potent for havoc in my life,

DLM

* * *

April 9, 1994

Dear Journal,

Only a week before the Quidditch Cup is decided. Oh no. Breathe in. Out. Hyperventilate. In. Out. Hyperventilate. In. Out. Hyper-

And I have all of this homework to do! ACK! (I decided recently it would be the epitome of lameness to swear on paper)

I need to go to the library! No! She'll be there! No! I can do this! A mudblood cannot keep a Malfoy from the library when he wants to! A girl can't either!

Yay! I haven't said "right?" for the past three entries! YES!

BUT THE QUIDDITCH FINAL IS COMING UP!

AND ALL THOSE HOMEWORK ITEMS ARE GOING TO BE DUE!

SH- I mean ACK! ACK! ACK! ACK!

STRESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS,

DLM

* * *

April 10, 1994

Dear Journal,

Yes! Though it seems impossible, I finished my homework. And I admitted to Pansy and Milly that my actual problem was Quidditch, which is true enough at this point. Supported by my very authentic rant preceding that revelation, they actually believed me. So they've been comforting, and by trying to keep my mind off of Quidditch, they've also been keeping my mind off of Grange- Mudblood.

Until now, of course.

Maybe I should go to sleep; I want to look nice for Arithmancy tomorrow morning. She'll be there. Of course I'm talking about Professor Vector.

Of course not! For a second time, ew,

DLM

* * *

April 11, 1994

Dear Journal,

She didn't particularly notice when I glanced at her occasionally. Maybe I'm just lucky that she's so sleep deprived. Or is that unlucky? I don't even know if I want her to notice me or not.

This is so mixed up,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Hehe, this is just me enjoying Easter Holidays in the Summer by making Draco go crazy. Don't worry, he'll regain his sanity someday. At least by 2010. And another hehe, Pansy and Milly suspect that Draco is lusting over his future life partner, Asteria Greengrass. And the swearing thing, by the way, is just to keep it all K+. You know. And finally, I know this is just a silly chapter with very little pertaining to book events, but I'm just trying to keep all of you from getting bored.  
_

_mjmusiclover: nah, my funky chicken days are pretty much over. But I love your enthusiasm! Cute and funny only to his close friends, which is just the problem with these Slytherins! Or, at least, that's basically what I'm trying to convey._

_daughter of dan: Thank you! Wow! A genius! That's a really wonderful thing to say. And I will keep writing, unless I something odd and unexpected gets in the way. So keep reviewing, it gives me heart to know you have enormous enthusiasm. And so what if you love Draco? It'll sure help him through those rough times of being sixteen and seventeen._

_Your Undoing: Nah, no Draco/Milly for me! She appealed to me as a friend for Draco because I find Milly a very under-mentioned character in the books (other than Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davies who was actually never mentioned at all, and Teddy Nott) and also because she's half-blood. So, is this chapter as awesome as you anticipated?_

_Finally, I apologize if I chased away any male readers. I don't mean to, I promise._


	17. III: A Nice Year

_Disclaimer: No offense to anyone who wishes it were otherwise, but Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. That's unchangeable fact.  
_

* * *

April 15, 1994

Dear Journal,

The match is tomorrow. I have been training like mad.

I'm not sure I can win this,

DLM

* * *

April 16, 1994

Dear Journal,

People shouldn't have different brooms. It's quite unfair.

In fact, the Ministry of Magic should do something about it. Make a standard broom. Like the standardizing of goalpost sizes in 1883.

After a very crazy and penalty-full game, I finally saw the Snitch before Potter. He was busy scaring some Slytherins to make the way clear for a Gryffindor Chaser to score, but I had seen it. I dived with all I had, urging my broomstick as fast as I could. I was miles ahead, but Potter's Firebolt fired up, and then we were neck to neck, and I almost could feel it in my fingertips when he knocked my arm out of the way and snatched the Snitch from the air.

I had an amazing lead, but his broomstick flew him past me! That broomstick was not only the difference between win and lose- it was the difference between Cup and Second.

Oh well, what can anyone do now?

DLM

* * *

May 11, 1994

Dear Journal,

If I thought Easter was bad, our current studying is monstrous. I tried to help Crabbe and Goyle study, but after a while it became clear that whatever managed to penetrate their skulls by exams would not make much of a difference. Or I'm just a horrible teacher.

The only ones in this school that can enjoy the summery weather are the first and second years. So the closest we can get to the sunshine is to stare longingly at Terri and Harper and Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley and Romilda Vane and Luna Lovegood and all those other kids as they sit by the lake or in the shade or play Swivenhodge and Quodpot.

Why didn't I appreciate my freedom last year when I had the chance? Oh yeah, there was that slight issue with the Chamber of Secrets.

Time to go quiz Milly on Medievel witch-hunting,

DLM

* * *

June 3, 1994

Dear Journal,

Let the exams begin!

On second thought, they have already begun. And plus, it isn't in my power to decide that anyway.

Well, first thing today was Arithmancy. There were charts for all the numbers up to one hundred, and for each we had to write the importance, an example, and explain how Arithmancy pertains to the number. For example: "3; The most powerful non-magical number; Triangles; Describes the simplest structure of geometrical figures and pertains to everything following in complexity. Almost the entire Muggle world rests on triangles, and therefore the number 3."

It got more difficult as the minutes ticked by. How was 67 different from 76? The only person in the class who didn't pause at all during the test was Granger. Her bushy head just kept bobbing with her quill. I went over it with Teddy during lunch, the only guy in our dormitory who also takes Arithmancy. Apparently, _Numerology and Gramatica_ states on page 96 that when digits switch in two-digit numerals, a phenomenon occurs that can only be described simply as "same difference."

After lunch, the Slytherins went to take Transfiguration with McGonagall, where we were supposed to be transfiguring a teapot into a tortoise. A slight disruption occured when Ronald Weasley passed the class cackling madly, being led by the diminutive Professor Flitwick. In the end, my tortoise looked okay, except it leaked tea wherever it went. Hopefully, McGonagall holds it still when she grades them.

I have a feeling the Cheering Charms will be tested,

DLM

* * *

June 5, 1994

Dear Journal,

I'm fourteen today! As soon as I thought that, Pansy bounded over, exclaimed something in a language that I do not think actually exists, and practically attacked me. "You're a teenager!"

"Dear, that was last year."

"Everyone knows that guys mature after girls! Now you're going to get mood swings and-"

Blaise joined the conversation. "Pansy, he's not a girl. He has got to grow hairy and develop muscles and get his voice to crack..."

There was a nice gathering as Milly, Teddy, Daphne, Vince, Tracey, and Crabbe joined the conversation. However, we were interrupted by Flint, who was studying feverishly in hopes of passing his N.E.W.T.s this time, when he told us to all shut up and get back to studying.

Speaking of exams, Care of Magical Creatures was obscenely simple, and Charms was okay since we had an idea about a big part of the examination, which was Cheering Charms. I was paired with Daphne and she started giggling even before I cast the spell. When she did me, I felt quite euphoric and wondered why Muggles bothered to get drunk. That lasted until Astronomy at midnight,which made me very tired when I woke up today. They shouldn't have exams at midnight, and then the following morning -Isn't it common knowledge that sleep is vital for success?

Oh well, got to go to Potions now,

DLM

* * *

June 6, 1994

Dear Journal,

DONE! The exams are over! Finally, the first and second years cannot hog the sunshine. About everyone was enjoying it, though I noticed that Granger and her friends weren't quite enjoying it.

As we were just lounging in the sunshine, I enjoying my fourteen-ness, Crabbe and Milly enjoying eachother, and Pansy making daisy chains, Eric flew into my lap. I patted the Eagle Owl's head and he deposited an envelope into my lap. I opened it, and out fell a letter from my Father, which basically told me that I'd better do well on the exams and that the first appeal went well, and the hippogriff is most likely going to be executed on July 6.

I stared at the letter, then noticed that it was dated _March 12, 1994_. I looked into the Eccentric's yellow eye, but it just hooted softly with no excuse. I noticed it's feathers were slightly ruffled, and when I looked closer I noticed that he bore a little scar. I patted him comfortingly and gave him an owl treat before handing him my reply.

So we just contemplated how Eric could have gotten delayed. Crabbe suggested that it had been attacked, so it had to rest in a cave until it fully recuperated, a theory with which Milly, of course, agreed. Pansy finally decided upon her answer, and hypothesized, "Eric was trying to ehippogriff of his. Professor Hagrid noticed the bird 'bothering' Buckbeak and took him inside his cabin until he finally healed. Then the gamekeeper set him free, though it isn't certain whether he read the letter or not."

I stared at her, flabbergasted. "Where do you get your crazy ideas?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night when Easter vacation had begun, and noticed a dark shape descending from the sky and taking something small from this ugly cat. I followed it, but it started having difficulty flying, so I saw it veer over to the gamekeeper's hut. It flew over Hagrid's milk carton and stopped struggling. Then it landed on a pumpkin and perched there."

Milly spoke for all of us, "And you remembered that incident perfectly and silently until today? Pansy, you are a wonder."

And so concludes Eric's latest adventure: the mystery of the night of the rat, the cat, and the milk carton,

DLM

* * *

June 7, 1994

Dear Journal,

Our teacher's a werewolf, dementors try to suck souls out of innocent kids but miss a fugitive, violent hippogriffs can untie knots, the troublesome threesome are in the hospital wing _again_, and it's the last Hogsmeade visit of the year.

Black was captured and freed, so that just makes the Minister miffed. A random hippogriff now roams the world, so that just makes Father miffed. The dementors have to leave, because Potter almost died and that makes the Headmaster miffed. And Professor Lupin makes Professor Snape miffed, so he has to leave the school.

The last one was kind of funny. Professor Snape 'casually' mentioning very loudly that Professor Lupin was a werewolf in the middle of a quiet breakfast before Hogsmeade. Professor Dumbledore just sighed and Professor Lupin left the table, because Professor Snape makes him miffed as well.

On a passing note, I noticed that Granger and Weasley were not anywhere in Hogsmeade. Maybe they aren't allowed to go because of the Potter incident. As for us, we just ate candy in Honeydukes, steered clear of the Shrieking Shack, drank butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, and lazed in the sun happily while all the grown-ups run around being miffed.

Isn't this the life,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Draco is back to normal, as promised. Well, mostly.  
_

_mjmusiclover: Thanks for reviewing, you must be my most faithful reader. Okay, just for you, I'll do the funky chicken. And yes, Draco is a sweet baby. And finally, how can you assume I'm still young? What evidence do you have that I'm not 108 years old with arthritis and hunched over my little computer and dusty Harry Potter volumes? What makes you think my great-grandchildren don't visit me every other weekend? Ah, you crazy young-uns._


	18. IV: Cup of Tea

_Disclaimer: Here is the question. Does J. K. Rowling own Harry Potter? And here is the answer. Yes._

_Oh yeah, and the quotes when Draco is talking to Harry, Ron, and Hermione are directly from the Goblet of Fire, though Draco's journal commentary is completely me.  
_

_

* * *

_July 31, 1994_  
_

Dear Journal,

Father is so happy about my marks from last year that he got me Top Box seats! For the Quidditch World Cup! I freaked out when he told me, literally falling out of my seat while we were eating breakfast and drinking tea. Mother shrieked, "Draco, what happened? Are you alright?" But I was so happy, I didn't care how crazy I sounded, I just sat up, laughing, "This is better than the Charms exam!" Then I bowled over and out of sight again, because I just realized how odd that must have sounded, them not knowing about the Cheering Charms.

I calmed down, and said, panting, "Mother, I'm fine, and Father thank you so much, I love you both and" I gasped a little, still giddy from my surprise. "I- I think I'm going to go for a while." I stumbled to my room, hearing Mother say jokingly to Father over the table, "This Filius Flitwick must really know what he's doin' huh?" I could practically imagine Father's eyebrows going up sardonically as he drawled, "Well, okay, I'll admit that much, ...but you still like _me_ better, right?" And she laughed and then I was too far away to hear them continue.

And I was still just glowing because I'm going to go see the Quidditch World Cup! In Top Box seats! With the minister and important rich people like that. I might get some flecks of sweat on me as the players zoom by on their Firebolts.

Seriously! International flecks of sweat!

DLM

* * *

August 1, 1994

Dear Journal,

I'm still really really thrilled about going, so I've decided that I've really got to owl Pansy and Milly about going to the World Cup in Top Box seats, because they would want to know, methinks.

On second thought, I probably shouldn't mention Top Box to Milly.

Actually, in that case I shouldn't mention it to Pansy either. I don't want Milly to get upset. It's not like she would be upset at me, but she might still get upset about money and icky issues like that.

Now, where is that eccentric owl?

DLM

* * *

August 4, 1994

Dear Journal,

Father is going to tell me about something that the Minister of Magic had confided to him earlier. He was about to tell me, but then he glanced at the clock and realized that he would be late to work if he did not Apparate immediately. And if he was late, "there's a good chance Fudge might not confide in me so often."

Now, coupled with my Cup excitement, I am all full of anticipation for what juiciness he's going to tell me. Good lord, I must be turning into Pansy!

Secrets make me so excited,

DLM

* * *

August 18, 1994

Dear Journal,

Father finally got around to telling me the big news. The Triwizard Tournament is resuming at Hogwarts again! Even though Father says I am not allowed to compete and Mother says I really shouldn't, it's too dangerous, of course I am going to try to enter.

INTERRUPTION! WORLD CUP IN ONE WEEK! INTERRUPTION! WORLD CUP IN _ONE WEEK_!

Now that that's said and done with...

I'm pretty excited to meet the Durmstrang boys and the Beauxbaton girls. Among those at Durmstrang Institute, Viktor Krum is going to be there! I might meet him and get to know him. Maybe he could teach me broom tricks! I might have to conveniently decline mentioning my support of the Irish team, though. Well, as the muggles say, all's fair in love and war! Well, this is actually neither, but...

Oh yes, and I have heard that there are many pretty girls in Beauxbatons Academy. As the French would say, ooh la la.

After all, there must be "beaux" in beauxbatons,

DLM

* * *

August 23, 1994

Dear Journal,

We left for camp a day early, so it won't be so rowdy and crowded as the procrastinators stream in. Plus, it is a good idea to leave us time to set up since as we have to do it all, imagine the disdain in Father's voice, the _muggle_ way. Which includes dressing up in muggle clothing. I have to say, though it differs a lot from robes, I really like these "jeans." They are a little stiff but still smooth, and I very much like the color. They definitely beat the muggle tops. I wanted a sleeveless one until Father hissed that muggle females wore them, at which I quickly desisted and chose a green and white striped one. It had a little collar and a few buttons at the top, which looked nice but were absolutely useless in trying to wear the thing. What's the use of fastenings if they are not split all the way? Finally, I used my wand to split the front, put it on, and _Reparo _(I know I'm not supposed to use magic on the holidays, but what prpof does the Ministry have that it's me an not Father? None at all. To verify this statement, no owl came to challenge me.) It was not that much of a hassle, but imagine if I were a muggle -I would have to sew everything up again, and that would not only take quite a while but look horrible.

Preparing the tent and meals and fires and everything was actually rather fun. Not as a lifestyle, but for a few days it's not that bad. Perhaps I should check out Daisy Hookum's bestseller My Life as a Muggle from the school library when I get back.

Since we were early, there were a lot of signs that named reservations for empty patched of grass. I passed on that I thought said Weasley, but then I looked back and saw that it was only WEEZLY. I'm pretty sure that's not how you spell Weasley. Then, of course, I saw our sign, "Mullphoy," and was the slightest bit disconcerted as Father whipped out his wand and fixed the lettering.

Oh yes, and Eric finally returned. He flew to the tent (four room suite, it's awesome), and spat the envelopes down in disgust. His disgust was both understandable and mutual, for while one of the envelopes was a nice, decent white, the other was orange. Yes. _That_ orange. It doesn't take a genius to guess which one was which. While I consoled the poor eccentric owl, I opened the white envelope. Pansy's reply was cheerful enough, and rueful that she was grounded through the World Cup due to a little mischief she promised to explain in full, glorious detail when we return to Hogwarts. Drat! School. I had forgotten about that. Now I'll have to cram in my homework after the Cup. Bah...

I shuddered as my hands approached the second envelope. Quickly withdrawing the letter, it was to my enormous relief that the parchment was at least a modest whitish cream color. When I saw the contents, I brightened. Milly is coming to the World Cup as well! Her mom is really estatic to go to a wizard function, and has been schooling Millicent how to dress like a proper young muggle lady, though she was a bit displeased when her daughter caught on quite too quickly and became enthralled with the skirt lengths and shirt cuts (I'm not exactly sure why this is so bad). On that note, she has also decided to forgive her Father for being Muggle and lowering her social status at school, just because he was still nice and provided her with a steady stream of books to read. Currently, she is reading a muggle book called Anne of Green Gables, which she thinks I would personally dislike should I ever try to read it.

I recognized the challenge in this last sentiment, so my reply included not only me eagerness to see her but this line as well: "How dare thee assume me to be so narrow-minded! You bring that book to Hogwarts, and I'll enjoy it so much as to make you eat your words.

"And please, send white envelopes,"

DLM

* * *

August 24, 1994

Dear Journal,

I spent some time with Milly today, though it was unsettling to discover that Milly was a staunch supporter of Bulgaria. I tried to somehow sway her opinion. "The Chasers are just unbeatable. They're so well coordinated that every movement is like a ripple on a lake. Sure, Bulgaria's got Viktor Krum, but he's all they've got."

"Exactly! Krum! He's like a chaser who can simultaneously score 15 times and end the game. Right there, that's a promised win. And even though his face isn't pretty, he's got a hot bod."

WHAT? I thought. "WHAT?" I said, knocking her on the forehead, lightly I _think_, to show my disapproval.

"Hey, you brought it up. I'm just telling it like it is," Milly said. A strange part of me wanted to demand how she knew that Krum's "bod" was "hotter" than all seven of the toned Irish players, but a larger part of me wanted to stray far away from this awkward turn. Millicent, however irritating she may be, noticed my discomfort and smiled evilly.

Then she saved me, in her own special way. "Hey, I brought Anne of Green Gables. Want to check it out?" So I found my nose in Lucy Maud Montgomery's debut for a grand total of twenty minutes before casting it away, horror struck.

"Fine! I'm narrow-minded, you win, assume what ever you want!" I grumbled, wondering at how much the writings of past and now this sappy thing I never wanted to finish could differ. Then I groaned dramatically, "I must be scarred for life."

"Like your arm, huh?" she poked at the said arm, unblemished for Madam Pomfrey's excellent work. Then she lowered her voice so it was like she was talking to a very small child. "Draco dear, it might come as a shock, but there are worse things in the world than the ramblings of a girly eleven-year old orphan."

I scowled at her. She smiled angelically.

Well, I'll show her in the game tomorrow...

_or technically_ Conolly, Troy, Ryan, Quigley, Mullet, Moran, and Lynch will,

DLM

* * *

August 25, 1994

Dear Journal,

IRELAND WON! Woohoo! And now... I have to do homework.

No, tonight's the night for celebrating. And rubbing the win in Milly's face. Even Mother and Father have gone out for a glass of wine or two with old friends and said they might not be back in a while.

It was absolutely stunning. Everything, from the moment the veela walked out (I was with Milly on Bulgaria for a second) to Krum snatching the Snitch from a 70 something foot dive (yes, you heard me -_Krum caught the Snitch_), was absolutely spectacular.

First, the seamless Irish team gets in three consecutive Irish goals before Volkov and Volchanov started slaughtering them with the Bludgers, freeing the way for Ivanova to score, which she does. The Bulgarian team gets the Quaffle, they're passing it between each other, and the Krum causes a slight diversion with a Wronski Feint and Lynch smashing into the ground. Lynch comes right back, and the Irish are as fierce as ever. After ten more Irish goals, Zograf cobs and, right before the penalty, the veela mesmerize Mostafa, who, when returned to his senses, tries to send off the veela and instead adds another penalty for Ireland. Troy puts them both away, so the score's 150-10 Ireland. Then Dimitrov fouled by trying to knock Moran off her broom, so the leprechauns gave the veela the finger and the veela flipped out and started chucking fire at them in return, during which the Irish make their penalty shot easily. The players are still going hot and right after Moran scores, Quigley swatted a bludger full into Viktor Krum's face. Before anyone did anything, Lynch pelted downward, this time actually seeing the Snitch, but Krum, bloody faced Krum, was right on his tail, level, and then -Lynch, for the second time, crashed violently into the ground as Krum rose triumphantly in the air, but this time with he Golden Snitch clutched in his hand. The game ends, 170-160, _Ireland_, and all of a sudden, there they are, the seven Bulgarian players with Krum looking like he was just violently mugged stumbling after them, and then Moran and Connolly holding up Lynch and Troy and Quigley lifting the Glittering Cup and Mullet and Ryan just staring, all of this not a yard away from our seats. One can barely believe that Christmas is still four months away.

You know, the Weezly actually _did_ mean Weasley! We had just reached the Top Box and the Minister was there with the Bulgarian Minister, introducing us to Mr. Weasley, whom Father very well knows. As soon as she heard the name Weasley, my mother's face transformed into a haughty scowl, recognizing the family enemy of her husband, the man who had beaten him up, and the son who had fought with her son. Wait, I didn't tell her about that. Well, anyway, she then percieved the girl near them to be the Mudblood I had commented on earlier, and decided looking unattractive in order to display her malice in a way that the Minister wouldn't do anything. I glared at the troublesome threesome to show them that this was a day not to be ruined by them before making myself comfortable in my seat.

I think I'll go taunt Milly now,

DLM

* * *

August 26, 1994

Dear Journal,

Something very crazy happened last night, after the celebrations.

Ugh, that's not a good way to put it.

Anyways, Milly and I parted ways, and I went back into my tent, noticing that Mother and Father weren't back yet. I wasn't overly worried; they could take care of themselves. I drifted slowly to sleep, still in my muggle clothes, the faintest lingering of a grin playing on my lips after the long day. Then the screaming began. I shot awake, and looked around. Mother and Father hadn't returned. Had something happened to them? Running outside, I gasped as I saw tents aflame, people in nightgowns scurrying -rescuing frightened children, and a dark mass of people, gleeful cloaked people, concealed so that not even the difference between man and woman could be perceived.

Four dark shapes lingered above them, but I ran for safety among the woods. I watched, between the leaves, wondering where my parents were, why they had not come home. I had assumed they had just been enjoying themselves -but with these madmen (or women?) running around, could it have been for a more sinister reason?

I heard loud rustlings behind me, and my stomach dropped in the darkness. Suddenly, a light appeared and I relaxed. Light always made me feel reassured. Everything was exposed in light, nothing can hurt in light. Then I saw that the source of the light was none other than Granger, illuminating Weasel sprawled over some tree roots and Potty just looking around, confused.

I jibed a little, unable to help myself, but before I got past eight words Weasel said shut up in very rude terms. Staring at them for the first closeup moment after that slap, I said, hoping my eyes didn't give me away, "Hadn't you better be hurrying along now? You wouldn't like _her_ spotted, would you?" marveling inside how the pronoun I had used to refer to Granger in my head sounded much different when spoken aloud.

She was confused. I started clarifying: "Granger, they're after Muggles," drat, forgot to say Mudblood, and I was actually addressing her directly for the first time since second year "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair?" there was a thought "Because if you do, hang around. They're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh." Was it too weird for me to try to warn them? Was it too abrupt from my hating stance toward them?

Potty interrupted, pointing out that Granger was a witch. _Good, I wasn't being obvious_, I thought, grinning. "Have it your way, Potter. If you think they can't spot a Mudblood" oh no, that slipped out _again_ "stay where you are."

A bang interrupted their reaction, too close to comfort. I wanted to scream witht the rest of the crowd, but remembered who I was with and composed myself with a nervous laugh instead. "Scare easily, don't they?" Was that me trying to emphasize my bravery to Granger? I hoped they didn't notice how odd I was being, so I quickly changed subject. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to, trying to rescue the Muggles?"

I knew I had made them too upset to notice my slip (was it even a slip or am I just exaggerating?) so I smiled again. Potter said, "Where're your parents? Out there wearing masks, are they?" I kept smiling, since he had just located them. That worry slipped away, and I turned to Potter. "Well..." I knew I couldn't very well say _thank you_, so I pondered what to say for a moment.

"If they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?" There. I was normal, not too weird, but maybe I conveyed something silently. Maybe not. Granger dragged her two companions away, leaving me wondering. I couldn't resist adding, "Keep that big bushy head down, Granger!" just to remind her to keep herself safe, and I had called her Granger for the third time without them noticing. Does that make it a success, or did it make any difference at all? Would it be wishful thinking to hope that Granger had initiated the leave because she felt something? Yes, I decided firmly, that would be much too wishful.

I stayed there, just leaning against the tree, as the drunk Death Eaters suddenly looked vaguely in my direction and scattered. Bewildered, I looked behind me, and saw it: in the sky, there was a hideous, green, smoky figure of a snake emerging from a skull. A faint recognition stirred in my mind that I was unable to place. Then I ran to my tent to contemplate the entire ordeal, unable to sleep, and opened you up.

For the past months, I thought I was _over_ her,

DLM

* * *

Dear Journal,

I must have gone to sleep sometime, for I woke up late morning or early noon to the *pop*s of the disapparating and the swishes of portkeys. With all haste, I dashed to my parents' bedroom and shook Father awake. He sat up groggily, holding his head. "Ohhh... Draco, what is it?"

Annoyed that he was having a hangover at this very moment, I shrieked in his ear, "The portkeys are leaving without us!"

"Oh, don' worry, we know how to get home, don' worry..." he repeated, slurring his words slightly. "Go back to sleep." I decided not to worry and went outside to brave daylight, then realized that Milly's father wouldn't have had a hangover because he couldn't have been out there last night, I mean, today morning, so they would have gone by now. So I went back inside and followed Father's instructions explicitly.

Then Father woke me up in the early afternoon, still looking slightly pained but dressed and groomed. I quickly groomed myself, and we packed up the tent with a lazy wave of Father's wand, not even bothering with the Muggle way. He turned sharply around. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"You don't like those buttons, right?" I nodded. "Can I have one?" Unsure, I nodded anyway.

With a severing and summoning charm, the button was in his hand. He placed it carefully on the ground. "Now, Draco, your Mother does not want you to go by Side-Along Apparition, due to possible splinching, since we aren't quite up to par right now. So instead, we're going there by Portkey."

"But they've all left by-"

"Shh," Mother said, and Father tapped his wand on the button, "_Portus"_. It glowed blue briefly and faded. "On three," he said. "One, two-"

And we were whisked away. Suddenly, I found myself in the comfortable decor of home, the word which then reminded me of the homework I needed to do.

I've got to remember that particular spell,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: I recommend looking back at J. K. Rowling's version of the conversation documented above (Aug 26). I think it makes a very interesting comparison of how Draco perceives it and how Harry does, because I worked very hard to match every detail of the few minutes that transpired. In the American hardcover edition, it's in chapter nine, The Dark Mark, on pages 121 and 122. I am not sure of the page numbers for any of the other versions, but I can tell you the scene should be near the beginning of the chapter, after Arthur wakes them up and before Harry realizes he's lost his wand. **(Note added 1/12/2011:** Thank you _emcee31_ for finding that in the Bloomsbury edition, Ron's trip to "Keep that bushy head down, Granger!" is 109-111.**)**__  
_

_Your Undoing: You're right, I do spoil you, especially with this record length chapter I've just busted my butt to present to you all. Well, record length for me, that is (1,335 words longer than my longest!) And no, poor bloke, he's not quite over her yet, though he had well convinced himself of it._


	19. IV: Painful First Impression

_Disclaimer: __HP is JKR's business.

* * *

_

August 28, 1994

Dear Journal,

Today, I asked Father a question. Usually at questions, Father answers or just declines to answer.

"Father, why did you guys run?"

"Excuse me?"

"When the Dark Lord's sign went into the air, why did you run?"

He stood perfectly still, as he mulled over the question, which I was beginning to regret asking. Finally his eyes set on me, and he waited for something. I coughed nervously, and then said, "Sorry -sorry for asking, it's none of my business," and inched to my room, to safety.

I just found his response exceedingly strange. It could even be called frightening, intimidating, which is an emotion one does not usually want to associate with their parents. Father must have practice such things, since he was a Death Eater and probably did everything in the book, but it didn't seem like he would do that to me. I'm his son. I felt like I was too different from the muggles and the Order of the Phoenix and the traitors. Of course, he does treat me differently from them. I just somehow didn't realize he had that ability, to turn completely frosty and detached like that. It was none of my business, though. And what is my business? As for information, he owes me nothing. And I owe him everything.

But I'm pretty sure he'll never force me to pay up,

DLM

* * *

August 29, 1994

Dear Journal,

I finished all of my summer homework in half a week! Talk about the powers of procrastination.

Got to go sleep all day now,

DLM

* * *

August 30, 1994

Dear Journal,

Apparently, Mad-Eye Moody caused a large fuss about being attacked in the face of no danger. Father says to watch out for him, for Alastor Moody was a very well-known dark wizard catcher, and Father does not go well with those kind of people. And the reason I should watch out for him is just that he's going to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts. I've decided to stop asking too many questions, because I discovered that Father tells me things and sends me newspaper clippings completely on his own.

Yes, I did sleep all day, and I'm better for it, to be sure. I asked (and yes, I thought about it for asking), "Father, can I tell my friends about the Triwizard Tournament?"

"As long as you aren't friends with all 300 students in Hogwarts, sure. They'll all know soon enough."

Today we pack (unpacking is included in that category, and I finished the Princess Bride. It was okay, but didn't really turn me into a whole TWOO LUV maniac),

DLM

* * *

August 31, 1994

Dear Journal,

The Hogwarts Express challenged the light as it slid across it's tracks, a thin silver snake. A handso-

Never mind all of that foolishness. No dementors this time, thank goodness. No, just the 300 students, and me informing my ten fellows of the Triwizard tournament. We lounged in our seats and talked of the dangers and the gold and the schools for a while, then I, Vince, and Greg decided to go bother the troublesome threesome for a while.

Before I remembered to be civil, I noticed a very lacy sleeve hanging out of Weasel's trunk. I snatched it before he could and had a laugh before he got it back. Then I tried to be nice. "Going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well," I added. "You'd be able to get some decent robes if you won." Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned the robes, for Weasel's blood circulation issue became quite pronounced and he snapped at me with a gentle "what are you talking about!"

I repeated myself, lest he be more dull-minded than I expected. He still didn't respond, so I turned to a more personal enemy. "Suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?" The three stared blankly and slightly disdainfully at me; Weasel was still quite upset. Goodness, I suppose I might not even try for those two.

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy." I smiled. She had finally spoken! So, I goaded Weasel about not knowing before leaving, proud of my achievement. I heard the glass shatter before I left.

At the Welcome Feast, Granger seems to be trying to starve herself (I think it's a Muggle habit called _fasting_), and Dumbledore revealed to the students that the Tournament was to be held and the Quidditch games would be off. (Good thing, too -I would feel very insignificant, and clumsy after the World Cup)

Very rainy Sunday,

DLM

* * *

September 1, 1994

Dear Journal,

Today was the first day of classes. Not too bad, I suppose.

In Care of Magical Creatures, we had to try to raise little creatures whom Professor Hagrid has dubbed, "Blast-Ended Skrewts." Not only are they blast-ended, they are also blood-suckered and sting-ended. And I asked the very reasonable question: "What do they do? What is the point of them?" And the oaf didn't know.

At lunch, Hermione was stuffing food down her gullet like there was no tomorrow. Apparently she has decided that bulimia is a more attractive idea than anorexia. What those two terms mean I have no idea, but that's what Pansy said when I pointed it out to her. Maybe it's a girl thing.

Then I went to Arithmancy, which is one of those few times when Hermione isn't flagged by two menacing boys (as a matter of fact, the same goes for me). Professor Vector collected our homework immediately, then set us to work on a particularly difficult assignment, for "your O.W.L.s are only in a few years, and we have much to do. For example, could any of you tell me one of the many numeric and practical significances of the number 241?"

And of course, only Granger knew the answer: "It's a promise of fame, for it's digits add up to seven." Professor Vector commended her, and told the class, "Since none of the rest of you are able to answer, I suppose we must spend this lesson on review assignments. Next week, the new material shall commence." Granger's face looked pleased, and she finished the review half an hour before class ended. I noticed her looking distinctly upset and betrayed as she vindictively flipped through the pages of a particularly well-read tome of Hogwarts, a History. We were all quite surprised and relieved when Professor Vector said that for our hard work today, she sees no need for review homework, since it is such a tiresome thing. Then she collected our summer charts and bade us a good week.

But, to tell you the truth, it wasn't a very good starting day for a good week. So, anyway, we had just emerged from Arithmancy and I had taken a good look at the Daily Prophet Father had sent me in the post this morning. Granger was a bit in front of me, and Vince and Greg had somehow found me as Weasel and Potty found her. At that point, I ran after them, my goal not Granger but Weasley. No, I haven't transferred my affections. Well _anyway_ I held out the Daily Prophet I had been reading and yelled to them (they were rather far away in the crowded hallway) "Your dad's in the paper, Weasley! Listen to this!" And I read it all out, pausing only to note the "Arnold" instead of Arthur. I suppose once again I went a little too far (alas! perhaps that's my fatal flaw, as the muggles say of their mythological heroes?) by commenting on Weasel's mother, and before I know it, Potter and Granger are all that's keeping Weasel from lunging. So Potter retorts, and I retort, and the Potter says:

"You know _your_ mother, Malfoy? That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

I felt like I reddened as badly as a Weasley, though Greg says it wasn't too far from my regular paleness. "Don't you dare insult my mother," I said, keeping my voice from quivering. It was to _you_ that she had made that face! Mother is the most beautiful person in the world, but not like he'd know how precious a Mother is, would he? He dared, _dared_, turn away, and I just reacted. Slashing my wand in front of me, I didn't even say anything, but a blast rang forward and missed him ever so slightly.

Before I could even perceive what I had just done, I felt a bunch of white hot needles prick me momentarily, and then I felt fine. Well, a bit cold and exposed. I blinked, confused, Why was everything so large? I'd better get out o- and then I was _not_ fine, flying into the air, and then falling _splat_ onto my arm. I had no time to rub it, for again I was up in the air, and then falling, and then I winced in preparation -_splat-_ I tried to tell what was going on through the gasps of pain as every inch of my body slammed into the ground again, and again, and again.

At least my fur dulled the pain ever so slightly- I had fur! It was white, too, And Professor Moody was there. He kept waving his wand up, and his lips moving, before I lost sight of him and flew towards the ground. After a while, he turned around, but his wand kept moving, and by that I mean, I kept going. This was worse than being in a fistfight, since I couldn't fight back. I flailed my short limbs uselessly as the ground ran towards me again. I noticed dazedly that I was going higher, too. Well, that was just farther to fa- and again, and again, and again, and now I'm just _sure_ that I'm bruised absolutely everywhere, just everywhere.

Professor McGonagall appeared, too. "trouble-so-" and again! "-me threesome" is also prese- and again! -nt and that weasel was looking like he wa- and again! -s having the ti- and again! -of his life, stupi- and again -d weasel, but I was n- and again! -o better seeing as I was a- and again! ferret but at lea- and again! -st I was sti- and again! -ll prettier. smack! one, two, three, smack! Uno, dos, tres- McGonagall took out her wand smack! and pointed it smack! at me sm- oh wait, I was a person again.

The bruises could be felt forming on my stiff form and my hair was all mussed up. I slowly got to my feet and tried to wipe my eyes, as they watered even more for the pain of movement. "When my father hears about _this,_" I mumbled, rubbing my sore legs. My beaten ears could vaguely make out Professor McGonagall scolding Professor Moody as he growled and turned to me, glaring at me with his normal eye. He was saying something to me, so I tried to get my ears to understand something. "Head of House... Snape?" "Yes," I mumbled angrily. He grabbed my bruised arm -_ow_- and marched me to Professor Snape's office.

Professor Snape's expression did not change when he saw me, but he said, very calmly, to Professor Moody, "Why isn't this boy in the Hospital Wing? Poppy will be furious to know you brought him here to be scolded instead of taking him directly to her."

The other sat there, equally composed, "That was punishment. He ought to be able to live with the consequences of his actions." There was a strange glint in his regular eye as he leaned forward for emphasis.

The Head of House was unmoved. "And what did he do to earn such comeuppance?"

"Tried to jink a student when the latter's back was turned."

"Draco, you may go," Professor Snape said curtly, and slightly wearily. I obediently limped away to the common rooms, which was far closer than the Hospital Wing.

Vince and Greg faithfully recounted every word that had been uttered and every movement made since my "abduction." I resisted smiling when I heard that Granger had apparently said, "he could have really hurt Malfoy, though. It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it." Pansy gasped when she saw my raw, aching skin and ran to get some healing ointments. Milly teased me for a minute or so before getting bored and sinking back into a new book, which looked exceedingly huge. I didn't regret my decision to skip the wing for a moment.

There's no place like... home? Hm...

There's no comfort like your people, accidentally hitting your bruises and trying to help while vaguely holding back laughter,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: The short Moody-Snape exchange was completely made up, and, something that occurs quite often, I completely agree with Hermione, my official second-favorite character. And it's true, Draco says nothing for the curse -Harry just hears a bang and a flash of heat graze his cheek. Non-verbal spells are pretty advanced for a fourth-year._

_Veena: Thanks very much for the French help, and I'm glad you could relate to some of his thoughts, and I'm sad that Milly's friendship seems OOC, but pleased that you enjoy it anyway, and I find it quite gratifying that you say it's more "sophisticated" than other fics you've read._

_mjmusiclover: Gentle isn't what I had in mind, but I'll take it. Must all reviews include rocks? And I'll decline answering the great grandchildren query, for I aim to keep their identities safe. Keep reviewing, as always._

_And that goes for all of you!  
_


	20. IV: Yet Another

_Disclaimer: The very essence of Harry Potter is held true in all our hearts, yet, undeniably, J. K. Rowling knows him best._

* * *

September 3, 1994

Dear Journal,

Professor Snape was in a particularly bad mood after his discussion with Professor Moody, or at least it seems so from his fury at (mentally retarded) Longbottom after the fool melted his cauldron. Or perhaps it was only because that was the sixth cauldron Longbottom has lost in that unique manner.

The Slytherins had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class today. First, he asked us about the curses that the Ministry hates most. An easy question, for most of us. Milly and Tracey appeared a bit left as several of us lazily raised their arms. Most unfortunately, Professor Moody recognized me, and less unfortunately, chose me. I said, looking straight and defiantly into his glowing eye, "The Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra."

"Ah," said the Professor, his normal eye gleaming oddly as he opened a drawer and revealed a jar with three spiders in it. "I suppose you can all guess what this one does." He withdrew one of the spiders, which tried to run away before it met its end. I closed my eyes to the green flash. When I had opened them again, Professor Moody was peering at me curiously. "I hadn't expected to do it so soon into the lesson. Anyone else? Yes, Mr. Crabbe?" His magical eye stayed on me as his normal eye swiveled to meet Vince's. He said, also with conviction, "Cruciatus." We wanted to show him that we weren't intimidated by him. The next spider experienced this new torture, extremely frightened. Milly and Tracey gasped when they saw its effects, unprepared for it. The rest of us, from families of pure-bloods, gritted our teeth and bore it.

He went on for several seconds, which made us uneasy, until Milly raised her hand. Without removing the spell, the Professor pointed to her. She said, determined to not betray the front we were trying to portray for him, "This demonstration is all very well and good, but I have the feeling that the class has basically got the point at this time, so might it be prudent to continue on to the next curse, just for time's sake?"

Professor Moody nodded, and then roared, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Not one of us flinched. "Very good. Your _parents_," he emphasized the word with an ill-fitting sneer, as if it didn't belong on his face, "have trained you well. All right, who knows the last one?"

At this, Daphne's hand shot into the air. Once he had nodded, she said slowly, pronouncing it carefully, "The Imperius Curse." The Professor turned the jar over, and the last spider looked absolutely terrified. After what had happened to it's siblings, surely this must be the worst! it seemed to be concluding. Then it relaxed, and swung lightly on its threads. 'Why, this is wonderful!' it exclaimed. 'I feel so nimble!'

After the spider finished its stunning performance, not one of us budged. We seemed to have inferred the disastrous effects such a curse could have. After sweeping the spiders back into their jars and the jar back into the drawer, he gave us notes on the three curses until class ended.

I found myself talking to Teddy. "Remember how you were talking about how Durmstrang teaches Dark Arts, on the train? Well, this is practically Dark Arts, isn't it! The Unforgivable Curses, right under our noses! D'you think he might have been a Slytherin?"

"He certainly sneers worthy of one," I responded. "But it doesn't seem to fit. This person who taught our class and the Auror whom our parents described seem like two different people. Like... subtly different."

"Perhaps. You're too detail-oriented."

"And you, my friend, are too sleep deprived."

"As I'll be from this class." Milly had grouchily joined the conversation. "Did you two all know of these things, then? Was it so that I and Tracey were the only two unaware?"

Teddy sighed, and used a sincere tone that sounded quite unused. "Milly, you're our friend. So's Tracey. You guys just... came into the picture a little later. Like, we come from families who are... _friends_ with each other," _friends_ did not seem to be such an innocent word right then and there, "and we don't hold it against either of you, alright? The _way_ our families are related just involves knowing some of this kind of stuff."

"Hey, Teddy!" called Blaise, his dark face shining slightly as he met his companion, adding "Hi Mil, Draco."

We all continued talking until we slept. I think the underlying reason is simply our pride in the unity we presented to Professor Moody, despite the very odd class. All Defense Against the Dark Arts classes are odd, with the lack of order and sequence between years.

Which just makes things interesting, of course,

DLM

* * *

October 20, 1994

Dear Journal,

The teachers are all having a "time of the month" or something. And not the Professor Lupin kind, either.

Basically, they've all spazzed out and given us loads of homework. Professor Vector has assigned us so many problems from our textbook I'm getting confused between Arithmancy and Arithmetic. The Transfiguration teacher walloped us with assignments, the ghost has us at a goblin essay a week, we have to read three books just to prepare for a lesson that Professor Flitwick is going to give us (good thing I can read quickly), Professor Snape is making us research antidotes, and Professor Hagrid (alas, a professor) topped it all today.

He wants us to, on alternate evenings, check in on our skrewts! That means I have to bear Todd the Terror (the goblins essays are seeping into my skull) even more than once a week. When I objected, he just glared and threatened me with a "Moody." I cringed inwardly as the Gryffindors just howled in mirth, so ignorant of the pain involved with it.

To make it better, though, the other schools will be arriving in ten days! (though Ernie Macmillan said "a week away!") That will cut Potions short (in which a very interesting antidote test was promised), but it'll be worth it.

Bah homework,

DLM

* * *

October 30, 1994

Dear Journal,

I met a superstar today. Viktor Krum. The one who caught a snitch after being Bludger bashed.

Beauxbatons came in a huge carriage, and their Headmistress is equally enormous, while Durmstrang emerged from the lake in a ship. Well, the students did; not the schools. But anyhow, the blue, shivering ones joined the Ravenclaw table, as the Durmstrang students, red underneath the furry coats they donned, joined _us!_

Viktor Krum had placed himself right in front of Vince, Greg, and me. I kept myself from imploding as I said, "Hello," as calmly politely as I could manage. He glanced shrewdly at me and nodded, seeming slightly preoccupied. After Dumbledore gave his welcome and the plates filled, I tried again. "So... are you excited?"

"What? Um, yes, I suppose, but who are you?" he asked in a heavy accent I won't try to describe, glancing up from his serving.

"Draco Malfoy," I said, a bit quickly. "And this is Vince, and Greg." I considered continuing with all my classmates, but then decided not too, since it might confuse him.

"Ah," he said absentmindedly, now taking in the food he had piled onto his plate, as well as his surroundings. Though he showed no hostility, I had a vague feeling of having failed. I ate in comparative silence, enjoying the strange foreign dishes as well as my friends' reactions to them.

To my surprise and pleasure, he spoke to me. "Who is that?" he asked, pointing behind me to a brown, bushy haired girl sitting next to Potter and Weasley.

Caught off guard, my eyes slightly narrowed. "Oh, she's just Hermione Granger," I drawled, and then I continued by, in summary, advising him against her, naming all reasons I could think of (such as bookworm) other than the main Slytherin one: blood.

"Oh," he said, sounding slightly disappointed, and returned to food.

Deciding finally that friendship with him was impossible, I withdrew you, oh book, and presented it to him with a quill. "May I have a signature?" I asked, pointing to the next blank page. Without comment, though he looked slightly amused, he took the proffered quill and book, signed, and returned it to me. "Thanks," I said, shrinking back into my seat.

He then stood up, said briefly, "I'll be going to the library," and left.

If I am not destined to befriend a famous person, I suppose I'll just have to become one,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Oof. Bartemius Crouch Junior blew his cover for a moment, so infuriated by the presence of these neat, compliant, and content children of the Death Eater traitors; those people who hid their allegiances to the Dark Lord. _

_Hey guys, here is my question for you: _Is this story K+_ (which by technical definition is age 9)? For now, I'm trying to keep it low, though I've already randomly mentioned knickers, short skirts, the "time of the month," puberty (though nothing life-scarring in that chapter), and am planning to have a little kissing in the future (though not much further), violence, and maybe more. _

_Here is my promise for the future: I will definitely keep it lower that JKR's books. No _thrashing like eels_ (god, that phrase is priceless), no Ginny protecting profanity (_THAT'S MY DAUGHTER, YOU-_), and no _Uranus_ (Ron said it, not me, page 201 U.S. hardcover edition Chapter 15: Mad-Eye Moody, to Lavender Brown during the Divination class before the ferret incident). Maybe a _little_ violence. So, here's the thing: **if you can stand and read the Harry Potter series, you can definitely read this**. Would you give the Harry Potter books to a nine-year old to enjoy? Then this should be appropriate, too.  
_

_Therein lies the question. And I look to you, oh great reviewers, for the answers. (and FYI, I don't care if you have a fanfiction account or not. Just review.) And to the only reviewer who seems to be alive at the moment:  
_

_mjmusiclover: Alas, my rock collection will continue to mound, though at least it's better than earwax. Draco is, isn't he? And though his choices are limited, he must make the right ones, in the end.  
_


	21. IV: Badgering Potter

I am SO sorry, guys, but this chapter has been lost. I am trying my best to find it, so hang tight meanwhile.

Basically what occured (so you can read the next chapter with ease):

~Krum's signature: "Draco Malfoy, May you earn the Snitch you seek, Viktor Krum"

~Names emerge from Goblet of Fire on Halloween, and Draco makes an observation on how Halloween usually contains an unpleasant surprise.

~Draco makes the "Support Cedric Diggory: The REAL Champion/POTTER STINKS" badges.

~Draco offers Hermione a badge and catches himself. Then Draco and Harry duel, Harry yelling "Furnunculus" and Draco yelling "Densaugeo," but it hits Hermione and Goyle instead, who both run off to the Hospital Wing. Snape is cruel to Hermione, so Harry and Ron cuss him out and therefore lose 50 points from Gryffindor.

If anyone has any ideas to get it back or for some odd and inexplicable reason have a copy of any of it, please contact me. Whether by PM or review, I do not really care.

_Love,_

_Loonynamelass_

_2009-08-26  
_


	22. IV: The First Task

_Disclaimer: I've recently discovered that there is no need to put disclaimers because this is fanfiction__. It's like, "this is a Harry Potter fanfiction! 'Nuff said."_

_

* * *

_November 21, 1994

Dear Journal,

Potter, I am pleased to notice, is not in Hogsmeade today, though Granger was sitting alone in the Three Broomsticks with a notebook that said "spew." Not even the top of his furry black head or his jagged scar. So it was possible to drink (Mother, it was just butterbeer), stroll (fast-walk skills), eat (candy/my dust), and listen (to my peers as they gossip about the First Task. Pansy had the idea that there were dragons involved. I know that Pansy's methods, odd as they are, are often accurate, but this time there is no doubt in my mind.)

One day, I'll look back at all of these small skirmishes between us as petty and laugh. Maybe even with him. But... not today. Today, book, is a day of triumph. Let us all proclaim that the hardworking champions are going to be AWESOME! Or at least the _real_ champions are.

Now here's the question: if 3, according to Arithmancy, is such a dangerous number, why is it the _Tri_wizard Tournament? Isn't that a bit thick of them to organize a dangerous event with practically a _promise_ of danger? Or maybe that's part of the attraction of the event...

The date is a product of the numbers 3 and 7.

Run for cover! *Professor Vector explodes with excitement*

DLM

* * *

November 24, 1994

Dear Journal,

There were dragons. F-I mean-Acking _dragons._

Amongst the cheering, Pansy was beating me on the shoulder screaming, "I TOLD YOU SO!" and jumping up and down in excitement at the prospect of seeing a very large and vicious fire-breathing beast face a small person wielding only a wand. And, I... Well, you know how I feel about such things. I was gripping the bottom of my seat in anticipation (pain involves anticipation, Count Tyrone Rugen says, one of the more likable characters in that book) and stared sightlessly at the awe-inspiring stadium, wondering when it was to begin.

And then a dragon was released. It crouched protectively in front of baby blue eggs, so different from how I remembered the dragon from three years ago: it was fierce, silvery-blue, and huge, while Hagrid's "baby" had been newborn, black, and diminutive, though they both come from the same areas. Cedric Diggory left the tent, firmly holding his wand, and stared into the eyes of the beast. After a bit of crazy tactics and near-misses, he turned to a boulder near him and waved his wand. The audience waited for the rock to hurl itself at the dragon, but instead it transfigured into a dog. The dog barked as Cedric edged away from it. The Swedish Short Snout began lunging after the Labrador while Cedric ran pellmell for the Golden Egg. However, when Cedric was ten yards away from his prize, the Snort Snout turned and a brilliant, clear, powerful, and BLUE-HOT (something Prof. Sinistra saidmust have been imprinted on me) burst of flame erupted and hit the handsome Hufflepuff directly in the back.

Cedric was not the only one screaming; about half (which may or may not have included me) of the audience had joined him. He immediately began to "stop, drop and roll" frantically away from the blue-gray fury that was pursuing him. And notice, book, that the whole while he kept heading towards the egg. The dragon kept going for him, but he got hold of the egg and then, in a blur, you just knew it was over because Madam Pomfrey was rushing towards his burnt, collapsed figure and some wizards came out of the woods and used a combined stunning spell to detain the dragon and the entire crowd is on their feet screaming and you are with them even though you don't know how you got there and it's just so tremendously tremendous that the end is undeniable.

And then it begins again. This time Fleur Delacour emerges to face the green mass of scales before her, slightly smaller than the Swedish Short Snout. She did not hesitate to raise her arm and wand and immediately swung it like a pendulum, her muttered spell causing the Common Welsh Green to blink, as if its huge eyelashes were suddenly too heavy to lift. The enraged dragon calmed into a more relaxed pose, and the beautiful Beauxbatons girl dropped her arm and slowly started creeping around the beast. Suddenly, the sleeper gave a violent snore, and a narrow jet of fire blasted out of its left nostril. The fire spread, quick as a whiplash, until it lighted her knee-length skirt. The woman let out a little shriek before whipping out her wand and bellowing "_Aguamenti!_" The water put out her skirt, now less powder blue than dusky black, and she made a mad dash to the Golden Egg.

The audience, if it were possible, was even louder this time. I paid attention to the scoring this time. She had taken a lot longer than Diggory, and with less-complex magic, but also with less damage, so she scored several points lower. It was a bit less than she deserved, for Professor Karkaroff was blatantly showing his colors when he bestowed upon her a measly five.

Next up was our favorite Quidditch player, Viktor Krum, as he stepped up to face the slim, red dragon coiled protectively around her matching eggs, in the center of which lay the Golden Egg (Gryffindor colors, I mused). He waddled in front of her and raised his wand carefully. With a jab-like gesture and a nonverbal spell, a white jet of light blasted out of his wand. The poor creature began to thrash in obvious agony. Her right eye twitching madly, she crushed half of her scarlet eggs in one swoop. I couldn't help but slightly pity the mother, and I obviously wasn't the only one who felt this way, because Milly frowned and muttered something like "Nemo" who is probably some orphan or clumsy parent she knows. While the dragons golden parts flared angrily and she writhed helplessly, Krum scrambled (ha, ha) over the pile of broken homes and seized the Golden Egg.

Professor Dumbledore, Madam Maxime, and Mr. Bagman, who had noted the egg damage, each dealt out sevens, Mr. Crouch, who looked very dizzy and unwell, absentmindedly bestowed a nine, and Professor Karkaroff, who was beaming around (still insincerely) in triumph, shot up a bloated ten. He was unblemished, so how was anyone to complain?

Meanwhile, a hush had stolen over the stadium. It had all been progressively getting better by the minute, but this Potter might break the pattern. I teetered precariously at the edge of my seat, my fingers had long unclenched themselves and relinquished their grip. How could he even dare to attempt to challenge the fiercest one of them all, the one that reminded me most of that first year nightmare, with a rudimentary fourth-year knowledge of spellwork? As far as I could tell, he wasn't particularly brilliant among the other students in his classes.

Finally, quivering from head to foot and walking like a zombie, the boy approached the Horntail, who in response let out an earsplitting screech. He raised his wand, not in the direction of the dragon at all, and used the most advanced spell the fourth years knew up to date, the one that we had prepared and studied for only a few weeks prior: "_ACCIO FIREBOLT!" _The projectile suddenly zoomed towards its owner's outstretched arm, almost whacking us in the face; not just a few of the audience tried to reach out and snatch it. Potter leapt onto it and soared into the air, dodging fifty-foot flame spurts as lightly as a bludger. He maneuvered through flames as masterfully as a circus-performer, though he was lightly gouged by the Horntail's horned tail in the arm. He deftly teased the dragon by raising his altitude, until the incensed beast raised her wings for flight. Before she left the ground, however, the boy had already shot under her wing and gotten hold of the Golden Egg among the dull gray ones.

It was all so fast that those who dared to blink half-missed it. The audience screamed impatiently as Madam Pomfrey insisted on detaining him before the scores could be shown. Didn't she understand that he was going through the delicate metamorphosis of the most hated champion of the school to the favorite to win? Even though we had been forced to wait for Diggory in his very length healing and her even lengthier fussing, it was much more grueling for the school to bear now, at this pivotal moment.

Finally, he was deemed okay enough to be judged. The first four judges alone gave him 36 points. Professor Karkaroff, hesitating, determining how low he could go (hm... limbo) without a horde of wasps (and not even Wimborne) assaulting him unmercifully in his sleep, before announcing "four." The crowd as a whole shouted in outrage, but the Slytherins scattered throughout sat and contemplated appreciatively the Durmstrang head's cleverness: Krum would still be in first, but the Potter fans wouldn't resort to violence because Potter was also, tied, in the lead.

Phew! And now I must come to terms with all the things he mischievous Professors have assigned for this random Tuesday off,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the time, I couldn't get on fanfiction for a while. Hey people, I randomly found four HP-related bits on the website My Life is Average:_

Today, I was driving and I noticed a Geico billboard that had been changed. Someone crossed out "So easy a caveman can do it" and spray painted "So easy a MUGGLE can do it." I want to find the person responsible and marry them. MLIA

Today, I bought a footlocker trunk and a maroon snuggie. After I paid, the guy behind the counter said, "Have fun at Hogwarts!" It made my life. MLIA

Today, I was in the car with my whole family. A Harry Potter themed band was on and it said "Hufflepuff" My mom asked my dad what this meant. Everyone started laughing. We started talking about how much of a muggle she was. She didn't understand. I like my family more now. MLIA

Last night I couldn't find the light switch in the dark so I yelled 'Lumos!' at the wall. Then my dad comes down the hall, yells 'Petrificus Totalus' at me, and turns the switch that was on the other wall. He calls me an idiot and goes back to bed. I love my dad. MLIA.

Today, during orchestra rehearsal, the conductor pointed his baton at me because I wasn't paying attention. I pointed my bow at him and yelled "EXPELLIARMUS!!". He made his baton pop out of his hand as if I disarmed him. He is my favorite conductor now. MLIA.

_And to who I like to think of as my "regulars":  
_

_mjmusiclover: What? And leave the Loony Manor to disintegrate? Hermione Granger was tortured in Malfoy Manor! Dobby was killed in Malfoy Manor (though he died in Shell Cottage)! Both by Bellatrix Lestrange! (And Harry Potter got possession of the Elder Wand in Malfoy Manor) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_

_Your Undoing: Yes, I'm rereading the HP series. Each scene I go over like twice, just to match details. In order to get dates, I go to the HP Lexicon. But hey, think of it like those Cheerios commercials! ("It's hard", they say as they happily pop Cheerios in their eager mouths)_

_And finally, I love reviews. I barely get any anymore other than the two mentioned above! I accept unsigned reviews as well as signed, so please do review. If you won't even grant me that pleasure, I at least ask you to check out my one-shots that I'm proud of, _Choices_ and _The Essay_. _Reflections_ is okay too. Til the next chapter!_


	23. IV: Xmas

_Disclaimer: FANFICTION!_

_I don't get paid either, though I once had a dream that a reviewer had written "Want to get money for your writing?" Then I woke up and ran to the computer to find the person who had written it before realizing it was a dream. Pay me with reviews, and I'll be quite happy.  
_

* * *

December 1, 1994

Dear Journal,

Pansy insisted I don't go down for breakfast today. I stared at her, slightly sleepy, and began in a condescending tone, "You do realize that just because last Tuesday had classes dismissed, today we still have to learn?"

She slapped my arm impatiently and said, "Oh shut up, just come with me."

I was dragged down a maze of corridors until we found ourselves in a room of beautifully painted fruit. Pansy tickled the underside of a pear as if this was totally normal behavior. The pear, in response, giggled delightedly and turned into a door handle. "Where do you get your information, Pansy?" I asked, trying to sound exasperated rather than amazed. "I must know."

"Like I would tell you this time," she replied automatically, turning the handle. "Besides, if I told you, say, Professor Dumbledore enjoyed knowing that we were up to no good, you would be rather skeptic."

"Touché," I said simply, trying to take in the huge polished dome. Suddenly, I noticed there were no chefs.

And then I saw them, at hip-level. Elves. Or more accurately, house elves. They were all except two wearing a neat tea cozy with a Hogwarts emblem stamped on it. However, very out of place, there was a heavily distraught one in a neat blue outfit, and there was an exceedingly happy one in a neat bizarre outfit. The bizarre one had a tie, a tea-cozy hat, two socks, and shorts, as well as just seeming very oddly familiar.

As I was sure that I didn't know anyone who wore such oddities, so I just stared at him, trying to figure out why he was so familiar. Perhaps he was related to the old house elf we used to have. Pansy poked me. "Talk to him," she whispered, very excited.

"Um," I said. The house elves looked up. Bizarro squeaked and looked down. I gasped, "_Dobby_!"

"Master Draco?" he stepped forward, his head still down.

"Did Father send you here?" I asked, flummoxed.

"No, sir, no, no, I came here on my own."

"But... what are you _wearing_?"

"I," the house elf fingered his tie nervously, "am free."

"No!" I cried in disbelief. "Why would we free you? You were an excellent house-elf; well, mostly. What did you do?"

He tried to bang himself on a pan, but I grabbed his tie. "Dobby?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Um... can I have some breakfast?" I decided to leave the house-elf be, much to the disappointment of Pansy, and we ate silently. I felt like there was more that she had wanted to show me than the kitchens' location and Dobby, but I was unsure, so instead I let my thoughts stray to what Professor Snape had informed us in the common rooms yesterday evening.

When he approached, everyone made a furious frenzy to clear up our activities: snoggers were yanked apart, Exploding Snap decks were stashed under chair cushions, and homework parchments were summoned to prepare for his arrival. The Slytherin Head of House wrinkled his nose at the exploding chair before beginning. "Professor Dumbledore wants the Heads of House to inform their students that there will be a Yule Ball on Christmas Day. My message delivered, I am leaving now, so there is no further reason to keep up the pretence of studying," and his robes swished behind him as he strode out the door. There was a little silence before an explosion of chatter. Vince looked down at Milly, considered, and asked, "Will you go to the-" "No," she replied calmly staring at her parchment. "Why not ask Tracey Davies? You were certainly enjoying her company earlier." I felt stunned, and one glance at Pansy showed she had no surprise at all. Vince merely looked disappointed and sunk back into his chair, his eyes following the back of Tracey's head as she resumed snogging Blaise.

Sometimes I feel that I really am out of it,

DLM

* * *

December 7, 1994

Dear Journal,

Have you ever discovered a secret that could be used potentially for blackmail but not utilized that capability? Oh never mind, of course you have; you're my journal, after all.

Well, today I discovered something by way of Care of Magical Creatures. Yes, I never expected to actually learn anything from the oaf, and at that, anything useful, but today seems like a turning point for me. While Pansy and I were trying vainly to do something abnormally absurd with the Skrewts- this time, trying to stuff them into pillow-lined boxes to see if they "fancy a kip," Reporter Rita Skeeter arrived.

Professor Hagrid mentioned that she was not supposed to be in Hogwarts grounds anymore. There it was! If just one of the busy students decided to go to the Headmaster, she'd be toast. And I have a funny feeling that this isn't the only unclean bit to be dug up out of Ms. Skeeter. And if one was to land upon her long list of misdoings, well, then- where could blackmail go wrong?

Hm,

DLM

* * *

December 12, 1994

Dear Journal,

The last week before break is in sight! And I, for one, am not going home and missing this dance. The Great Hall will probably look spectacular, and it will be an interesting set up for my first, er, date. Then again, it might not be a date if I can't find a partner, but I certainly hope I can. I'm not too unfortunate looking, so I think I can snag someone. Hopefully.

Only, there are less girls than boys in Slytherin. Vince seems rather lucked out and Gregory is slow in all matters, but Tracey is already with Blaise (as you may have inferred by the last entry) Milly is going platonically with Teddy (though I somewhat doubt it is as platonic as it seems) and Pansy and Daphne have a wide array of suitors, both older and younger year Slytherins. There is a chance I might go for someone younger, but not older- there is a small idea in my mind that the female should not be much older than the male in a heterosexual relationship. And the only female younger year Slytherin I know by name is Asteria Greengrass, and she's already going with some older Slytherin. I slyly tried to comment to Daph, "You'd let your baby sister go out with someone three years older than you?" but she, occupied by the gallant requests being made by Carl Warrington, pretended not to hear.

This week seems easy enough; the only work will be for Professors Snape and McGonagall,

DLM

* * *

December 18, 1994

Dear Journal,

I have a date to the Yule Ball! Pansy Parkinson. The one I played with in diapers while our parents discussed evilness.

I guess that's why she took me to the kitchens two weeks ago. But what's it matter her motives! I'm not going alone!

Yes!

DLM

* * *

December 21, 1994

Dear Journal,

Mudblood is going to the ball with someone. A few weeks ago, I hated how much I knew I couldn't ask her, because I didn't deserve her. Of the few things I had come to realize over these gruelling eight months, it was what little worth I really have. I'm not smart, I'm not nice, my ineptitude is overwhelming.

But now I think her going with someone is okay. Who cares? I don't. And that is the truly amazing part. I'm with Pansy now, and you know what? This stupid crush on Mudblood has gone on long enough. I'm tired of it! It's like being in love with the Minister of Magic, fruitless and flustering. (hm, that reminds me of Prefect Weasley, who, now graduated, practically worships his boss)

Hm. Another 21st.

Being done is so great,

DLM

* * *

December 25, 1994

Dear Journal,

The Yule Ball was today. Where to begin but the beginning.

First, we got dressed up. Pansy wore a light pink that made me shudder and laugh at the same time. Good ol' Pansy. I was wearing velvet black robes that I had chosen during the summer; now, though, I couldn't help feel like the collar was stupid. But then Pansy hugged me around the neck excitedly and I decided the collar was quite fine as a protective measure.

We descended the stairs in a bunch, Vince upset that neither Milly nor Tracey liked him remotely, and Gregory wondering why they had to dress up and looking forward to the food. We spotted a table near the front of the sparkling Great Hall and I had drawn Pansy's chair when I noticed Granger. Sitting next to Krum and looking like an absolute goddess. I stared at her, wondering if I liked her or not. Pansy stared at her, wondering what shampoo she used. Vincent stared at her, wondering why he hadn't thought to ask her. Gregory stared at her, wondering why everyone was staring at her.

Potter was with that Indian Gryffindor, um, what's-her-name P something. Weasel had an identical girl next to him; I supposed that was Potter's girl's twin. After the champions had seated themselves with the judges to complete a total of thirteen (Professors Vector and Trelawney must be scandalised), they had to get up again and dance to the Weird Sister's slow tunes. The champions began dancing, Potter and Krum looking like they were trying desperately not to trip and Roger Davies, Tracey's older brother, staring at Fleur Delacour like she was some kind of glowing star. Tracey herself gave a snort -I turned to see that Tracey, Blaise, Milly, and Teddy had joined our table. Pansy tugged on my arms, beaming at me, "Let's dance."

Remembering the manners drilled into me from long ago, I stood up, offered her my arm, and led her to a random spot before starting to dance. I wasn't sure what to do, so she said, "Swing," and I recalled learning with her the cheerful dance, a few years before we went to Hogwarts. "I don't think the song has the right beat," I objected nervously. "Draco," she said, her eyes sparkling, "who the hell cares?"

She was right, as usual. Everyone was dancing every which way, some seventh-years grinding (ew) while others performed a stately waltz. After glimpsing the style of a Gryffindor chasers and Weasel twin, I was convinced, and immediately began. I whispered the calls, "Left, right, rock-step, left, right, rock step, over, over, slide, double dish ray, left, right, rock-step, left, right, rock-step, right pocket, rock-step, spin!" and she giggled at every call I made. The ones at our table must have thought I was telling dirty jokes, the way I was talking. "Let's tango!" I suggested after we were pretty worn out from the fast-paced dance. "I only know a few steps!" she cried, to which I parroted, "who the hell cares?" We promenaded for a while, I spun her, and then we both admitted at the same time, "That's all I know how to do!"

She erupted into giggles again, and I felt very masculine for restraining. I held her for a moment and said, "Let's go to the benches outside." We found a spot as far as possible from Professor Hagrid and Madam Maxime, and glanced at Tracey's brother snogging a Hogwarts champion (I'll give you three guesses for which one it was).

We looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, punctuated by the sickening noises that the busy pair were emitting, before she leaned forward and the space between us vanished. She leaned back. I touched my mouth, and asked, "Was that your first too?" She nodded, and this time I went forward and kissed her back for a while before we sneaked back to the table at which we were sitting.

The night continued, punctuated by interesting and humorous moments I'm too tired to write about. But still, there it was,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Ta da, a kiss! Well, two. The X in X-mas stood for kissing in this instance. And I've washed my hands of this crushing on Hermione nonsense. _

_Today, I skimmed over the HJP Birth Charts essay in HP-Lexicon, and I was mesmerized by the small description of Draco and Harry's relationship. It makes so much more sense, so I'm going to try to work in some of Draco's insecurity and mount on that before the sixth book, where he will explode as much as Professor Vector on the 21st's of each month.  
_

_mjmusiclover: Short? What are you talking about? That chapter was five hundred words longer than the one before! Oh wait, that's the author's note. Whoopsa daisy. Grand Canyon? What if my great-grandchildren are scared of heights? Or one of them falls over the edge? Egads! _

_Review, all of you!_


	24. IV: Girls and Bugs

_Disclaimer: Did I write Harry Potter? In my dreams._

_

* * *

_

December 26, 1995

Dear Journal,

Aha! Caught in the act! Ms. Rita Skeeter, 30-something evil reporter, is an Unregistered Animagus. But how do I know, you ask?

Well, yesterday after we went inside to dance a little, we returned to our bench and noticed a little beetle scurrying down the elaborate statue. Both of us being in an odd mood, we stared at it for a few moments as it scurried into the castle. That was not that crazy, just a little beetle.

Then today, we saw the selfsame beetle crawling on the table. I turned over empty glass and caught it, intending to release it outside after I finished eating breakfast. When I reached the doors I carefully let it go, only to find Ms. Skeeter staring at me. And, book, she is unfazed. She just babbled at her same pace, "Hello! You're a student from Professor Hagrid's class, are you not? Would you and your friends like to comment on his teaching abilities?"

"Um... okay," I answered, not one to let such an opportunity go to waste. She held out her hand for a handshake, and when I had given her mind she disappeared, and all she left was a small beetle crawling on my arm.

I went back into the Great Hall with the beetle in my hand, and Pansy recoiled. "I thought you were getting rid of it!" After I explained who the beetle was, their countenance changed. We discussed what we should say, so excited to be quoted in the newspaper. I was quickly elected as speaker, finishing with, "we all hate Hagrid."

Then I let the beetle scurry off and we let thoughts of that encounter scurry off from our minds as we discussed the adventures of Winter Vacation, now that we're all stuck at school.

Pansy was peeved by all the time I spend with Milly, especially when Milly burst out laughing at an odd phrase I said (Beetle News, I still can't figure out why that's funny), so I told her there's nothing between us and kissed her again and said, "Now, do you see me kissing Milly like that?" and then she kissed me.

So I _think_ we're good,

DLM

* * *

January 1, 1995

Dear Journal,

My fourth -er, fifth, kiss. My New Year's resolution: to kiss next year as well.

Simple enough,

DLM

* * *

January 4, 1995

Dear Journal,

Father sent me a letter this morning disclosing the newspaper clipping of Rita's article, at which time Milly finds it appropriate to exclaim, "Beetle News! Beetle News! Beetle News!" At my confusion, she told me it was from a "movee," a concept which she was then unable to explain. Well, anyway, it's basically about how Hagrid is evil and half-giant and stuff.

Contemplating my existence (yikes, that sounds Granger-ish), it seems kind of pathetic, the way I'm always just plotting against something. It's like there's nothing better to do with my time and effort. But then I glance a thought concerning Perfect Potter, always brave, always kind, always infallible, given rule-breaking privileges since even the Headmaster and his teachers are in admiration of him. But still, he is no better than me- I have friends, too, and my _parents_ love me, and I have a girlfriend, and so what if my forehead is unblemished and I am able to live normal years without getting involved in Dark Lord stuff...

Er... sincerely (how long has it been since I used that sign-off?)

DLM

* * *

January 16, 1995

Dear Journal,

So I guess today is our second "date," as Pansy terms it. Pansy wanted to shop a lot, and we were going to go into Gladrags for what seemed to be a promising hour when we noticed the Golden Trio approaching it and decided on a different kind of trip.

We hustled into Honeydukes, where I bought her some Bertie Botts, presented it to her over-romantically, and we took the boxes to the Shrieking Shack where we dared, fed, and kissed each other with the oddly flavored beans.

When we had run out of candy, we started on conversation. Trying to keep things interesting, I mentioned you. She said it was so sweet that I had been using her gift still, and suggested in a rather bossy way that I should mention our trip to you. She also thought it was funny that I addressed you directly, which left me quite bemused. How else should I address you? The entries are headed by "dear journal!" Doesn't that imply that I'm contacting _you_ specifically? My arguments only amused her more, so in the end I just took it in stride that she was happy.

Other than that, Care of Magical Creatures is okay without Hagrid, except when we're learning about unicorns the boys don't really get too involved.

For me? or her,

DLM

* * *

January 22, 1995

Dear Journal,

Pansy's fussing about how there's an entire month before she can go to Hogsmeade and shop what she wanted to at Gladrags. I've also come to realize -this has been coming on since Saturday- that people no longer wear my "Support Cedric Diggory" badges. Ah well, it had been getting old anyhow. I enjoyed (soon joined by Vince, Milly, and Pansy) practicing my Banishing Charm on them; they went flying in many directions before I perfected it, and it was not rare for random students to note that they found a badge in the fire, near the door, or inside their bedsheets.

Now I banish thee to thy secret hiding place!

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Goblet of Fire is taking much longer than any of the other books, though I do admit this chapter is absurdly short. I suppose the longness is because it's the first two inch. Did anyone catch the Beetle Juice reference? (I use Milly as my source of Muggle connection)  
_

_mjmusiclover: The White House? Do I have to make political decisions? and speeches? No DM Prince Charming, that's for sure. I don't want to tear him away from his wife and son, nor would I want to do the same to Tom Felton and Jade Olivia. __IF I have great grand-kids or grand-kids, doesn't that also imply that I have direct kids that I can make my princes and princesses? __Other than that, having a balcony sounds cool (I do get a balcony right?) Um... part of last chapter was dismissing Hermione from his mind, so no Dramiones here. And last of all... did you say I was OLD? *is extremely insulted*  
_

_Your Undoing: Wow, vacationing in Hawaii and still reading and reviewing! Devoted, you are.  
_


	25. IV: Drowning

_Disclaimer: Read the Harry Potter books. Whatever sounds like JKR is hers. Whatever sounds like me is mine. (For example: the poem is mine)  
_

_

* * *

_February 14, 1995

Dear Journal,

Boy I hope I don't sound stupid.

But this is me trying to please Cupid.

Also Known As Pansy

Whom I kind of fancy.

Teddy suggested a poem or something

So I took his advice on this... um... thing

Maybe I'll start with some compliments?

Okay... even though she stocks up on condiments

She's still not fat

And I'm cool with that

That's not really vital, though

And this poem is being really lame, so...

She's nice to kiss.

Though I'm not the person to ask since she's the only one on my list.

Of kisses, I mean

But she's probably good for an aspiring teen

Ooh big words

Now all I have to do is talk about flowers and birds...

Pansy is a flower

I've never really smelled one, but it's definitely not sour

because then how could that be her name?

I'm getting better at this game.

Teddy, stop insulting my masterpiece.

Don't be so critical, sheesh!

It's called an near-rhyme

Like near-homonyms. It's all sublime.

I hope she likes this

and that Teddy's judgment is a miss

But I'm also half taking his advice...

Gah nothing about this is nice.

Except for you.

(I mean Pansy) Another point for me! Woohoo!

Love, DLM

P.S. You (Pansy) are an awesome gem

* * *

February 21, 1995

Dear Journal

Sorry if my poem confused you. That wasn't really meant for you, book, so that's why I had parentheses (which I took off when I wrote it for her). Anyway, Pansy liked it so much that she threw her arms around me again, before wrenching apart just to cry out, "That was the stupidest thing I have _ever_ read in my life! You are so sweet!" I pushed her off my lap and crossed my arms, my pride slightly injured.

She yanked at my arm, grinning at me like at a three-year old, and said, "Draco, it was really cute and well-meant, isn't that enough?"

"But why is it stupid?" I insisted, causing Teddy to roar with mirth.

"Well... it had absolutely no regard to syllables. And the language wasn't exactly eloquent. And you went from talking to me in third person to second person. But it was so _you_!" I was still unimpressed. "It's much better than if it had been a perfect poem. Because you, my dear, are not a poet. And my boyfriend, the only one I would want a poem from, is not a poet. And a poet, my dear, is no match for the supreme prowess present in my unpoetic boy. Happy?"

"Okay,"

DLM

* * *

February 22, 1995

Dear Journal,

The Second Task. Poof.

I'm not really sure about the whole egg thing -No one tells _Slytherins_ anything except Slytherins (and maybe Pansy).

But anyway, so Potter was late. The whole school was present, not to mention a few others, but a _champion_ himself is late. Well, a mini-champion, you could say.

The three seventh years pointed their wands at themselves before diving in- Diggory and Fleur both gave themselves Bubble-Head Charms, while Krum transfigured his head into a shark. Potter, however, just waded in the water and shivered, and the Slytherins as well as many more of the crowd couldn't help but laugh at his odd helplessness. Had he deciphered the egg at all? Suddenly, I thought something invisible had slashed his face because there was flesh on his neck that looked oddly inflamed and Potter was having problems breathing -for a moment I worried/fantasized that he was dying- until he dived into the lake behind the others.

And then we could see nothing. It was very confusing, a task such a this, that we would all gather out here just to stare at the slightly churning surface of the lake. So, to occupy our time, Bagman sung to us (it was rather horrible and comical simultaneously) what the egg had apparently "said" underwater, explained it, and then allowed us to wait for the champions to arrive, providing refreshments that were Summon-able to all who want them. However, after waiting only half the time that Bagman had guaranteed (some 45 minutes after the start), Fleur Delacour emerged, terrified and shrieking. To the audiences horror, about a dozen grindylows were latched onto her, and she was frantically trying to dispel them with none too much success. With an ominous *glub,* she disappeared from view, and soon enough the chattering and general "public gathering" feeling returned, but only as a facade as we wondered what the other champions might be facing beyond our sight, beyond the sight of the wizards here to protect the champions from death...

And then 22 minutes later, he came, and the Hogwarts mass screamed for joy. Cedric Diggory had emerged from the lake, carrying Cho in a tight embrace (many girls -not including Pansy- sighing to be her) and raising his tired, bubbled-head in triumph. Second to return was Fleur, but it was not as heartwarming: her robes were torn everywhere, her usually magnificent hair was scattered, her eyes were red with tears, and she was bruised and cut _everywhere_. She was in such a state that the sight of her made Pansy gasp, fighting frantically with Madam Pomfrey, "I HAVE TO GET BACK! GABRIELLE IS DOWN THERE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? IS MY ENGLISH TOO ACCENTED FOR YOU? LET ME GO!" she screamed in a way that still managed to be heart-breaking rather than demented.

Finally, Madam Pomfrey forced her into submission, trying to explain that her sister would be fine, she was not allowed to return to the water for the purposes of fairness. The most that Delacour could do with the firm, maternal woman was scream more "THERE ARE 'ORRIBLE BEASTS THERE! SHE COULD BE 'URT! SHE WEEL THEENK I ABANDONED HER! SHE EEZ MY BABY SEESTER! I DO NOT CARE EEF MY ARM WAS BROKEN, I NEED TO GET BACK!" (that was me trying to portray her accent) and make it impossible for Madam Pomfrey to heal her by writhing like mad.

Third came Krum, with his frightening head and a sopping Mudblood in his arms. Why do all of these people get their girlfriends? I looked at Pansy, and tried to figure out if she was whom I would miss most. Well, Fleur hadn't gone to save Roger Davies, so that was some kind of support. Maybe my mum would be trapped or something. I don't know.

So then we all waited anxiously for the last "Champion" to arrive. Finally, he emerged, his face looking normal and both Weasel and a veela in his arms. I clamped my arms over my ears as the crowd exploded, which Pansy luckily took as the reason, trying to see more clearly. It was a blonde girl, who looked exactly like the sobbing Fleur Delacour except more... stunning. In an odd way.

The Merpeople discussed something for a very long while with Professor Dumbledore, and as he reported back to his colleagues, I could tell they were getting more and more displeased.

The score results were as such: Diggory 47, Krum 40, Delacour 25, and Potter 45, because apparently he did something super-moral-amazing down there. But then again, Dumbledore has been proven to be quite biased towards Gryffindor *cough* house cup first year *cough* and we only have his word for what the Merchieftainess had said. But alas, why be bitter? Things always work out for Potter in the end, isn't that a fact of life I'll have to reconcile myself towards?

It's all sublime,

DLM

* * *

Dear Journal,

I forgot to tell you something. I fell into the lake! After everyone was gone and Pansy and I were trying to figure out what we could possibly do on a school-free Wednesday, I tripped over a stone and pulled her with me. We stumbled out, and I thanked *something* that Hogwarts robese were black and a bit water-proof. After a quick but satisfactory drying spell, I said to Pansy, "Do not tell _anyone_."

She said, quite cool, "Oh don't worry." Seeing my doubt, she said, "Seriously, why would I gossip about something including _me_? It's like you don't know me at all!"

"Of course I know you! I've known you since we were, what, three? Come on, Pansy!"

So we're okay again.

But dating, in an odd way, is rather difficult,

DLM

* * *

_Disclaimer: I hope Draco's poem made you smile. And if it did, send me a review. I want to hear from you. (Oh no I'm in the weird rhyming mode that has nothing to do with syllables). And finally, this chapter is dedicated to O.A.R.'s line, "Drowning in love and memories!" (from the song Love and Memories)_

_mjmusiclover: Hmm... If I decided not to update for a day, would my rocks continue to increase? Not people- person, or at least pug-faced Pansy Parkinson. I'm glad you think Rita's Animagus form is fitting, it very much is, though regrettably useful; Legally Blonde snaps for Jo! Oof, everyone is beautiful. Especially this beautiful balcony, made of review rocks, that I'm apparently getting installed by the time this fanfic is done with.  
_


	26. IV: March of the Platonic Slytherins

_Disclaimers: I don't even know why I make these anymore, seeing as I established a few chapters ago that these are unneeded._

* * *

March 5, 1995

Dear Journal,

Guess what? It's just three months until my birthday! Isn't that lovely?

And yet here flies Eric, with not only a daily assortment of sweets but a letter from Father as well. I open it, and there falls out not a note in his impeccable handwriting, but a magazine clipping. I read it through, and smiled. Sometimes, unknowingly, Father knows me all too well.

Rita Skeeter's made up some rubbish about Potter liking Granger (since when? it was Weasel who near-exploded when he saw Granger with Krum, and I who may have been slightly attracted a while back) and then about Granger probably mixing up love potions to bewitch the pair of them. I mean, really! Love potions are ridiculously advanced! Not even Granger could make a satisfactory one. And that's not all. _Pansy_ is the one that suggested it, quoted in the article. I stared, agape, at Pansy's initiative. "What?" she said, smiling proudly, "It's just like gossip, but on a larger scale."

"But-" I tried to form my thoughts into a simple clause, "it's not true." Not that I had a problem with that, it was just a little disconcerting.

"Of course not! Just because I tell my fellow Snakes the truth doesn't mean I always do... Don't worry. It's just about making a fuss, to keep the world from being boring."

I agreed just because I imagined the ruckus in Potions today. Instead of I holding the clipping, Pansy passed her subscription of the magazine about before class. When the troublesome threesome finally arrive, Pansy lazily tossed the Witch Weekly to Granger with a shout. Granger caught it and after we were herded into class, we saw them poring over the article.

Professor Snape caught them, and in a move that I never dreamed possible as a teachers privilege, he slowly and deliberately read aloud the entire article. The Slytherins howled with laughter as the reading continued, and in the end he separated them, with the unfortunate but not too unfortunate consequence of Granger sitting beside Pansy, therefore, near me. She was rather quiet, other than muttering angry curses at Snape while he taunted Potter, and it probably benefitted my classwork to see what she was doing.

Pansy was turned almost fully towards me, not wanting to "make contact with a Mudblood." I said nothing, just smiled slightly at her, and continued to work.

You know what I need? A good _book_,

DLM

* * *

March 6, 1995

Dear Journal,

Hogsmeade visit today. I convinced Pansy that today it needn't be another date, we both need time with our friends. So Pansy, Tracey, and Daphne perused Gladrags, Teddy, Blaise, and I managed to drag Crabbe and Goyle away from Honeydukes to visit Zonko's. We found Milly at Dervish and Banges, where she was having something repaired. I asked Milly if she was reading anything, and she gave me Walk Two Moons before we left the shop, saying, "Give it back Friday, before Potions." I could feel our friendship straining, since Pansy and I had been spending practically all of our time together and I sensed would be furious if I spent time alone with Milly, so all I really saw of her was when she, Pansy, and I hung out together.

After a few hours, we met up with the girls, who were now at the Post Office, and we all headed for the Three Broomsticks. Thankfully, Potty, Weasel, and Granger weren't there, but Milly was, so we joined her table and spread out among two, which we pushed together. Madam Rosmerta was quite astonished to see so many of us (obviously our "cliques" were quite separate to the common eye), but quickly left to fulfill our orders of nine butterbeers. We lounged and chattered on many different levels. Pansy sorted through and tried to interest me in the bulging bags she had filled at Gladrags, but Blaise was succeeding in that respect with his detailed accounts of the most recent and violent Falcon-Catapult game. So Pansy started conversing rapidly with Tracey, who was seated next to both Blaise and Vince, the later of whom was also failing to capture Tracey's attention. Gregory and Milly were playing Wizard chess, Milly beating him horribly and unashamedly. Daphne was applying make-up in the reflection of her butterbeer glass, and Teddy was the only who seemed to actually be drinking his butterbeer.

Quite an enjoyable visit and quite a fail for romance all around,

DLM

* * *

March 8, 1995

Dear Journal,

Walk Two Moons is well enough of a tale. I do wish, though, that protagonists of the books Milly gives me weren't so often girls.

Professor Hagrid has begun to finally bring nicer creatures to his classes. Sure, he went along with the unicorn curriculum that Professor Grubbly-Plank, which was pretty cool, but now he's brought in nifflers, all of his own accord. One niffler kept trying to steal Pansy's watch, so she finally tucked it into the neck of her robes. Greg showed stunning mental capacity when he tried to steal some of the leprechaun gold his niffler had found, though such ploys were useless anyway.

Todd the Terrible is gone, I say, gone!

DLM

* * *

April 11, 1995

Dear Journal,

I leave thee at Hogwarts over the holidays.

Happy Easter,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: I know they're getting shorter, but so does the time. Keep reading and reviewing, and I'll keep writing. Updating twice daily is quite a lot anyway, so I hope your happy as Draco leaves his diary at Hogwarts and entrusts its safety to Milly.  
_

_Lovealwayshopes: Hi! Yes, I actually think the boys featured in Harry Potter all seem slightly clueless, though lovable. Perhaps Hermione would be able to compose a stunning love ballad, but it's doubtful that Ron would appreciate it. Ginny, we know from her first year, is skilled. Canonness? Good. As I've stated before, this fanfic is meant to be as non-AU as possible, as are all of my other current fanfictions and ideas.  
_

_Your Undoing: Here I scatter around my warnings, "this cannot last." I don't think that either of them can truly love each other as mates, but I feel their relationship stems from loving each other in a different way. They have to discover that eventually, so Draco can fall for Asteria and Pansy for... erm, I don't really know, someone at least.  
_


	27. IV: Descent of Darkness

_Disclaimer: Loonynamelass may be a little loony, but not so much that will make her think Harry Potter belongs to her! She retains at least that shred of sanity..._

_Warbles randomly, "I'm not crazy, I'm just a little... amazing!" sticks out tongue, and declares Disclaimers to be terribly boring to write before imploring you to read on._

_Actually... read through this message with the song "Better Days," by the Goo Goo Dolls, in your head if not sung out loud._

_"Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days. So take these words, and sing out loud, 'cause everyone's forgiven now. And tonight's the night the world begins again..." and get a really passionate feeling for the entire Harry Potter saga and that wonderful swooping feeling in your stomach (or was it my heart?) and the hotness of your cheeks and the glowing in your mind that extends to your nose that you felt when you read the chapter, "The Flaw in the Plan." When you heard the silent slice of Nagini's head in that beautiful flawless moment... when you felt Hagrid's tears, the outrage of the crowd, the clear pain and power in Molly Weasley's voice in her dangerous dance, weaving spells as smoothly and effortlessly in her rage as a set of Weasley sweaters... when you sensed the rush of air as Lord Voldemort's soul splitting spell finished him off in such an amazing and perfect moment and there's more than just a chance that maybe they'll find better days...  
_

_With that magnificent, triumphant, exhausted, exhilarated, amazed, awed, happy, purposeful, heavy feeling surrounding you and let the pianos and violins and beat fill your ears and let it all surround you, envelope you, devour you into a mass of all of the crazy feelings that are so great and beyond and powerful and sure and I'm not saying that this chapter is even worth that, but this is my dash of Harry Potter patriotism and there it is and let it fill you for a moment, a few moments, even go to youtube if you've never heard the song before._

_Just gorge yourself on that love and leave and hug someone you love and look into their eyes, whether it's your mom or your spouse or your kid, and just love the love coursing through your veins, and take a nap or meditate or write your stories or paint or build or draw or calculate or run or make more music of your own and just be you for yourself and feel for everything in the world that has its place..._

_And then when your done with that, come back and read this chapter._

_(The above message was inspired by the magic of reading, however corny that is, and was written by loonynamelass)  
_

_

* * *

_June 5, 1995

Dear Journal,

That woman's got an odd opinion of birthday gifts, but she showed up, which is something if not accidental. We were lounging in the Saturday sunlight, near our favorite tree, when a large, ugly, and unmistakable beetle flew into the hands I had been resting on the back of Pansy's neck. I yanked it out so quick Pansy yelped as though struck, and after a hasty apology I pointed at the beetle. She nodded and sat patiently in the sun while I walked to the other side of the tree, in the shadow, and looked at what the beetle, soaked in mud, had scurried and written in my hand.

"_Harry Potter_" it said. I felt shaky with loathing as I stared at the word, the boy who had nothing and found everything. So I recalled to her the first event that had come to mind- the Dueling Club. It was what he and I were, represented in its simplest form: With our wands out, bowing slightly, he with the disadvantage (Lockhart) and the victory. And I, following out the steps for triumph, but still ending in a confused and unfathomable loss, as well as a dark desire for vengeance. A desire that I was, in an odd way that I disliked, fulfilling for myself by these, as I one termed it myself, "petty" attempts at _nothing good..._

With a shudder completely separate from what my mouth was saying, I placed the beetle on the ground and returned to that one person who never made me doubt myself.

I dedicate being fifteen to you, Pansy,

DLM

* * *

June 21, 1995

Dear Journal,

Exam week, and the Third Task. Summer is going to be especially short this year.

How symbolic,

DLM

* * *

June 24, 1995

Dear Journal,

The Third Task is today at dusk, where we will all be assembled to see... nothing, again. The high walls of the maze make it impossible to see anything between them that isn't 10 feet tall, though I think I did catch a glance of Todd the Terror (or was it Terrible? No matter, it all amounts to the same). I'll have to recount it tomorrow.

Onto another tangent of life, Rita Skeeter's article came out today, quoting me. I childishly made faces at him with Vince and Greg while he read the article for himself, propelled by that feeling of resentment as his scar shone clearly through his tangled black hair.

Exams went well, though I have a feeling I accidentally put Todd the Terror as an answer I didn't know on the Binns exam,

DLM

* * *

June 29, 1995

Dear Journal,

Death, despair, and the Dark Lord. I know of its Truth, given honor like Truth deserves, flying in the form of Eric, without the sweets. I read the letter twice. I didn't need to tell the others, all around me, I could sense the similar notes being read, in their simplicity and clarity and confusion. I stared around the hall. _Enemies_, I thought, my mind feeling numb. _These are my enemies._

Cedric Diggory has fallen, at the hand of the Dark Lord, newly risen, along with wrath. "The first of many," I said to Vince and Goyle, gazing at the Headmaster, who was speaking to the students assembled. I didn't need to listen to know what he was saying. _Many_, I thought, staring into those blue eyes, faraway and powerful.

"Harry Potter," the man said, raising his glass. And the Hall rose as one, holding out their goblets to the name, nay, the person who made my blood run cold. One of two. The Dark Lord. Opposites, and so starkly similar in my mind. _Enemies_, I mulled. _One is, for certain. And the other?_ Pansy was sitting actoss from me, and we stared into each other's eyes. Hers, warm and deep, bored into my misty grey ones, and both of us were full of fear and knew that we would have to be solace for each other. With a stroke of a knife, we, as a pair, as a house, even, were set against the world.

And set against happiness,

DLM

* * *

June 30, 1995

Dear Journal,

I don't know what possessed me to go to his cabin. But maybe it was to tell them what hadn't changed -even while it irretrievably had. Coming to his cabin, I felt like shaking, so I plastered an obviously fake smirk on my quivering lips and began.

"You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favorite boy again. Big deal." I threw out the last words with some contempt, contemplating the days ahead. I realized that they were becoming quickly upset at my presence, and I had to work harder to keep the smirk on my face. "Trying not to think about it, are we? Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?" _If only I could_, I thought.

"Get out," Potter growled. I realized that I still hadn't fully made my point.

"You've picked the losing side, Potter!" I almost winced at my own words. "I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day of Hogwarts? I told you not to hang out with riffraff like this! Too late now, Potter" The name lashed out like a whip. "They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first!" And then an urge for accuracy revealed itself. "Well, second-"

And then lights and nothing. Until I woke up to Vince's screech of exclamation. He was clutching the tentacly mass that I recognized to be his face. I felt so badly bruised, especially on my nose, and so many marks were on me. I shook Greg awake, and we got up, grabbed our trunks, and rushed out of the train.

Why should we care about our appearances?

This is war,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Development, development, development! And so we now know why Draco seeks out Pansy as a companion. __And symbolism too! __ He points it out, but it still counts, and shows how everything is just working out perfectly as I endless paint over my oily canvas of Draco's personality, trying to mix new colors and finding they are perfect, and bring out the life and innocence and darkness until I have something new, something different..._

_And it is now that I added that long note at the beginning. Review to that too. Toasts of air to Harry Potter and what he stands for, for who needs drugs or alcohol or anything to keep you out of your mind or drown your sorrows when you have that, that power and will that will let you do anything, that will inspire and fill you so much more without a moment of delusion?_

_Ah, forget it, I'm too full of feeling. Reviewers (lovealwayshopes) will get their shout-outs next chapter, don't worry._

_"When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am..." God, I love Goo Goo Dolls. When they play, the songs seep into me and embody me. "The answer that could never be found..." So that's whose Greatest Hits I'm listening to. As a final note__, the previous conversation is on page 731 of the US hardcover edition, chapter 37 "The Beginning."_

_(Oh yes, and I can't help myself: Wow! Three chapters in a day! GOF done! Absolute canonness persistent, because I believe that the story doesn't need to be altered to sympathize with a character. Change the story and you change Draco. And that is not happening.)  
_


	28. V: To Be Certain

_Disclaimer: Let's take a look at any HP book, shall we? Does it say loonynamelass? No, no, it says Rowling. Now, that doesn't make sense unless Rowling owns Harry Potter and I don't!_

* * *

August 2, 1995

Dear Journal,

Father has been especially busy. He spends days in the Ministry and nights, well, you know. Mother is not one of them as I had originally suspected, but I know that they can't be completely male since Aunt Bella is pretty prominent in that way.

The long, lonely summer, full of headlines depicting Potter's dementia,

DLM

* * *

August 12, 1995

Dear Journal,

Father tells me that Potter's disobeyed the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry or whatever and is probably expelled.

I know well enough not to get my hopes up, but Father remains optimistic enough,

DLM

* * *

August 30, 1995

Dear Journal,

Finally, something in the news apart from Potter-maniac-theory. Ministry Degree #22 was passed, and as far as I can tell the Ministry of Magic, and therefore Father and the Dark Lord, are slowly trying to take powers away from Professor Dumbledore.

I got an owl from Pansy finally. She says that she's really excited to be seeing me in two days, her mom's thrilled about us, and everything that's going on is really unsettling. I felt guilty about not telling Mother, but I really hadn't realized that this was one of things that you do tell mothers, so I approached her shortly after receiving the message, still clutching the letter in my hand.

"Mother?"

"Yes dear?" she murmured, not looking up from her work.

"Um, I just got a letter from Pansy, and I figured there's something I should tell you."

"Go on."

"Pansy and I are... kind of... going out."

"And you asked her in an owl? And I thought I had raised you with some tact!"

"Er," I said, unnerved by her response. "...No, we went to the Yule Ball together, and then we saw each other after that."

"Well, you two must have been terribly lonely this summer," she remarked. "You haven't seen each other since school! Why didn't you tell me? Me and Mrs. Parkinson-" _Mrs. Parkinson and I_, I corrected; Mother must have been excited beyond belief to screw up in grammar. "-could have set something up! Well, no matter, there's always next year, and then the wedding... How about it? This is so perfect! The uniting of the Parkinsons and Malfoys will be fabulous, they're one of the few eligible we're not related to already..."

"Alright then, good luck with that," I murmured, deciding out of respect not to grace her with an odd look before sweeping up the stairs.

Wait... Did she say she was planning the _wedding_?!

DLM

* * *

August 31, 1995

Dear Journal,

I'm a prefect! Ha, Father, I _do_ have good grades. Egads!

Egads has to be most awkward exclamation ever. It's the one that sits in the corner at all the dictionary dinner parties, trying to evade the the also awkward curse-words and dirty terms. Though you never know, Eureka is friendly enough.

School tomorrow, and I've already used the word _dictionary_. Egads!

DLM

* * *

September 1, 1995

Dear Journal,

Today we packed up and headed for Platform Nine 3/4, as usual. Father and Mother accompanied me, as usual. I thought I might have seen Potter in the distance, but I didn't dwell on it -until Father hissed to Mother, "Sirius Black," and pointed to a black dog.

The last time I had associated an animal with being a person, I had been on the Hogwarts Express when a rather clever Mudblood had imprisoned both a beetle and a reporter in the same small jar. Trying to sort that out in my mind, I started perusing the compartments to find my girlfriend. Pansy squealed when she saw me, we had a passionate moment, and I said apologetically, "I have to go to the Prefects cabin for an hour, sorry. We'll catch up later?"

"No, silly, I'm a prefect, too!" I smiled in relief; it was always nice to not have to face Potty alone. Though fortunately, Potter was not there. Feeling slightly as though I had been cheated out of some venting, I resolved to catch up with him later.

So half an hour later, flanked by the affections of Vince and Greg, I found myself "patrolling," which involved checking the compartments for misdoers to dock points (mwahaha. no. my evil villain laugh stinks. do not even pretend you heard me... er... write it) and for presence of a Potty (MUAHAHA!.. Still no good).

Finally, I reached my destination, where I was able to fit in a taunt about prefect-ism, his arrogance (I didn't realize I hit gold until I saw his expression), and finally, I added in the term "dogging" just to make him wonder, even though I wasn't altogether sure of what I had guessed. Not many wizards had the unluckiness to be experienced with unregistered Animagi, so it's possible there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for my Father's softly spoken words.

And then I realized I was spying on my parents. Not really spying, but they didn't know I was there, or what I had heard... If they did, what would they do? This must have been one of the few (before today I thought nonexistant) secrets too precious to reveal even to I, his son. And that only meant one thing.

Involvement of the Dark Lord. And his followers, as an afterthought.

There were pleasant conversations in the Slytherin compartment, and at one moment I caught Pansy's eye, and she gave me a look that was almost completely unfamiliar. We were going to talk in the common room. And be sirius. I mean serious! Why do I keep _doing_ that?

Well, anyway, at the end of the feast when everyone had gone to bed, she pulled me over to the couch, and she embraced me once more. I moved her head to stare at her face for a long moment, and then she closed her eyes and I did the same and kept them closed for a intense while before I yanked us apart, unsure if this was right. "Pansy," I said in a low voice. "Will this really help us?"

"I just," her voice broke, "really need to get away." So I pulled her back to me, and after a few minutes we surfaced again, and I touched her cheek gently, feeling a rush of affection that I had never felt before. We blinked at each other, then got up, picked up our belongings, and headed back to our dormitories. We had a long first day of school ahead of us.

Is there anything that is really certain in the world?

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Poor Draco, can't make an evil laugh, which is a touch of my own symbolism. He ain't evil, and he's not gonna kill Dumbly.  
_

_Lovealwayshopes: be patient, Asteria will come along in good time...  
_

_mjmusiclover: Heavy metal? Obviously you didn't read my note on "Better Days". Oh my, two extras, lemme see... magical? That's what I like to hear!... after all of this, you are only shocked now? Math is awesome! If you want, you can read _Essays_, which is as mathy as I could make it._

_Lovealwayshopes: Thank you for your rant, I appreciate it so much, especially because I can relate to it so well. Books transform your mind. Books give you wisdom, almost like the wisdom of experience. Books can haunt you, books can heal you. Books are like the phoenix song, guiding you evermore. The beauty of seemingly random hand movements producing recognizable figures on paper is so amazing and brilliant, I spent nearly twenty minutes just gazing at the brushstrokes of a painting in a street stall that I wasn't going to buy, just admiring and stowing away as much beauty as possible. I have a vivid memory of purchasing a painting, and watching the artist who had probably done this a hundred times that day but not lost his love for the figures of his creation. A flick of his wand (or paintbrush perhaps, but who can tell between them for the magic it makes?) would summon a dolphin leaping out of the water, a twitch would conjure birds to fly through thick clouds created with a small brushing movement of his fingertips. Lastly, I'm definitely glad I have introduced you to the wonders of the Goo Goo Dolls. Three types of art have melted into my heart, as you may have been able to find, and they are those three: the books, the paints, and the sounds. Of books you can see I'm writing here, and drawing is one of my favorite pastimes, but for music I can do half of the work -I play the music yet my composing efforts have never produced a masterpiece. As to being underappreciated, I can understand where these thoughts come from. People used to all turn to books and chalk and harpsichords, but now half of them will turn to and on the telly (though uncomparable to the joy of seeing a play, I do find that T.V. shows are much commoner and come on when you please while costing less, so I do not disparage the T.V. in essence, just overuse of the device). And the hollow joys that that may give just does not really compare to what they miss when a choice and unfortunate few declare, "I hate reading!" Luckily, drawing in the form of doodling is still quite popular. And music is quite literally booming. So I say just know what you can enjoy and share it to whom will listen, and waste not your time on stubborn others. People in general, I think, do appreciate the true value of the arts, even though media may indicate otherwise sometimes. And there, a long response befitting the long review._

_Oh yeah, and Draco says that stuff because of his jealousy, insecurity, and feeling of duty to do such things. Is there a way I can make this more clear? Please respond via review or PM.  
_

_"Everything that you are falls from the sky like a star..." So drop some reviews down, too, and I'll catch them for you.  
_


	29. V: Queen of Rumors

_Disclaimer: HP is JKR's. TDD is by me.  
_

* * *

September 2, 1995

Dear Journal,

Being a prefect is a refreshing notion, I suppose. It's fun to tell off whomever you want, pointing to the slightly luminous, glittering, and green badge. Though it's _not _fun when some brats decide to retort. One second-year who looked quite too young to be snogging replied swiftly, "Oh yeah? Well what about you and your dark-haired angel over there? Is what you were doing last night something that the headmaster would appreciate?"

I almost started to lose my paleness before starting to revel in his attentions. "And how would you know what Professor Dumbledore's opinion of his Prefects are?"

Obviously he had expected me to burst out a defense, which would have not only incriminate me but humiliate me to the same extent. He was unprepared and while he was hesitant in his response, I, full well knowing there were several options for him to take to retort to my rather lame response, hastened to send the young blushing girl to bed before returning to the side of my 'dark haired angel' in the useful shadows of the common room (did I ever call them a downside? how silly of me!).

"I had no idea you were so against such behaviors, Draco," she whispered to me so quietly it was like a puff of air, her lips brushing my ear as she spoke. I easily caught the grin in her voice, however carefully controlled her face was.

Considering my range of honest answers, such as 'they're much too young' and 'innocence must be preserved,' I replied simply, "Well, haven't you discovered the joy of a badge?"

As she turned her head, I felt her raven-shaded locks silkily glide across my cheek. So different from a slap. "I prefer to be a liked prefect," she said, turning idly to the pages of her _Witch Weekly_. And so, recognizing the wisdom of the popularity princess, I decided to knock off my antics; well, to the Slytherins at least.

Potions seems to retain it's interesting-ness, despite the dark circles of Professor Snape's eyes. As a spy for the Dark Lord, I suppose he has to dedicate a lot of time to both sides. The Potions Master singled out Potter's Potion of Peace (or whatever the hell it's called) and criticized it sharply as I attempted to aid Gregory with somehow fixing his potion, which was starting to hiss ominously as it steadily melted through his cauldron.

The bell was welcome, so we all shoved our materials into our bags (with perhaps the exception of Greg's shattered cauldron) and scurried out the door. Arithmancy has gotten, if anything, more difficult. Professor Vector is intent on giving us the Arithmanciatic tools to root out almost every magical and non-magical property of every number into infinity. We'll be starting simply, she said, with random four digit numbers. For one and a half hours per day. Magical properties of 8925, quick!

Simply, she said.

O.W.L.s year,

DLM

* * *

September 3, 1995

Dear Journal,

Care of Magical Creatures has started again. And hey, it's actually decent! Professor Hagrid is gone (Father hinted earlier that it has something to do with giants -I wouldn't be surprised; this isn't the first time Prof. Hagrid has futilely attempted to make peace with creatures) and Professor Grubbly-Plank.

I was feeling very much in my element today, able to quickly run off a joke about Potty, Mudblood, and Hagrid in quick succession. Potter, trying to eavesdrop (there's one with no subtlety), was clawed by a Bowtruckle, which only added to my glee. How many times has he disregarded my third-year injury with the reason that I wasn't paying attention? It's like revenge, except I didn't even have to do anything.

Can you believe it? Care of Magical Creatures actually made me _happy_,

DLM

* * *

September 6, 1995

Dear Journal,

Quidditch tryouts today. No one had even bothered to try out for Seeker other than yours truly, for they knew about Father's generous donation, and felt that they had no chance. Shame. But oh well.

And hey, did you know -since Wood has graduated long ago, the Gryffindors have chosen another! New blood, you ask? Well, actually, not so much _new_ as Weasley. Yep. The third remaining male weasel in school has now also decided to play on the team. "Haven't you discovered the joy of a badge?" I had said, days ago, to Pansy. As for that...

Muaha- oh forget it!

DLM

* * *

September 10, 1995

Dear Journal,

God, I wish we could just learn Dark Arts and be done with it! The Defense Against the Dark Arts is more useless than ever. For the first lesson, we just stared blankly at the pages. Sure, we can't do magic, but seriously, shouldn't there be discussions, or notes? Any rousing of the class, or at least of the teacher, would have been quite welcome, instead of her just sitting, smugly staring at the dozing students, unblinkingly and sharply. She has to be the worst teacher in the history of Hogwarts. Well, dismissing Professor Binns; he's dead, maybe his lessons were better when he was alive.

It has to be expected, though. "There again, progress for progress' sake must be prohibited, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering." Since when has the wizarding community been perfect? The Slytherins had listened attentively that long ago day of the feast, for while we knew that the Ministry, in being against Dumbledore, was effectively in the Dark Lord's pocket, none of us really knew what was going on with the whole thing, thanks to our careful parents, so there was nothing doing but to listen to what little the Ministry would reveal.

She makes it too easy, as we discovered by the time we sat the second class, because Professor Umbridge thinks we're all idiotic, immature, mischievous, and altogether simple-minded and untrustworthy. Which is not an attitude that fits at all well "those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching," is it?

After the confused first lesson, us sly, slithery Slytherins made good out of dull (now, if only we could apply these techniques to Vince and Greg). We just raise our textbooks to our faces and spread the news. Um, Professor, of _course_ it's not Dark Magic that we're using to gossip about the Dark Lord's return and what we can glean from our stoic Death Eater parents, because remember you don't believe in the existence of any of those things! As I said, it is just too easy.

So what have we decided, after about two hours of discussion so far? Sturgis Podmore may have been part of an anti-Dark Lord organization, and consequently was arrested by Fudge, whom everyone agreed was playing straight into the Dark Lord's pocket. And, as for the matter of Sirius Black, some of them think the dog was a pet and therefore secret trademark of Black's presence, while the few others assumed either that the animagi theory was correct or are still puzzling over it. That Sirius Black was present, however, was a unanimous idea, especially considering the recent report in the Daily Prophet about his presence in London. Finally, the current location of Professor Hagrid was a quite debated subject. Teddy claimed that his father, in between bouts of laughter, had said privately to "a friend", "...The fool...oaf...giant...vacation...France...Ha!...Idiot!..." Some people thought that the half-giant might have been foolishly vacatioing in France. Some surmised that their teacher might have made a stupid alibi involving vacationing in France. Yet others hypothesized that the words were entirely unrelated, humorous bits of the man's day. And a select few of the class believed that Teddy was making it up because he wanted attention. In summary, a quite successful first meeting; and one that not only provided us with information but an even larger thirst for more. I, of course, had a little idea of the truth, but I wasn't very eager to share it. Teddy was quite self-sufficent and had never gone out of his way to respect or admire me, so I didn't feel any pressing need to help him out. Any evidence of the shady spell (and we didn't leave anything physically traceable) could be attributed to Professor Umbridge, because that cannot be put beneath her, with her slightly (for lack of a better word) Slytherin ways.

Speaking of her, she also appeared in Care of Magical Creatures today. She had nothing to complain about for Professor Grubbly-Plank, the excellent substitute (why she doesn't teach us permanently is the mystery), but seemed to hint that she had no patience for Professor Hagrid. She asked Gregory about previous injuries she heard about, which in itself is slightly unfortunate, seeing as Greg is the thickest person I have ever had the fortune to meet. I quickly retold the heartbreaking tale of my injuries. Potter tried to intervene, but only earned detention- a fact that both reminded me of that late night confused by dragons in which I was unjustly punished and made me very smug. It was the first time I had a glimpse at her allegiances (houses, the war, and otherwise), and I soon realized she very much despised Potter, at the very least.

Unfortunately, Milly and Tracey have been feeling _very_ left out, because they haven't quite learned the art of Dark; Milly with a father a muggle and therefore her mother a blood-traitor, and Tracey being the Slytherin-y little sister of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captian; her resentfulness, pride, and determination to outshine her (she calls them "oppressing" and "old-fashioned" and "idiotic") family landed her in Slytherin for the first time in generations. We tried to tell them that it was for their own good that they didn't kow these endangering facts, so we switched to another cheering tactic that we wouldn't feel guilty about them knowing if they found out on their own, so it was just for our own selfish sakes and yeah, we're horrible people, but aren't you too for pressuring us? They slightly cheered at our self-mocking manners, and Milly dismissed it completely when Pansy said that it was just a load of guessing and gossip; meanwhile, Tracey became more upset. However, you know me; I was never quite fond of Tracey, so I let Pansy go comfort the girl. Milly then offered to lend me a book, but I quickly declined, to her bemusement. "Look, Mil. I can't accept that. I explained this to you at the end of last year, when I returned that Walk Two Moons book to you unopened. Don't you understand the obligations I have? To all that my family believes in? This is my duty, however I may want to refuse it, to stand against Muggles and Mudbloods and the Headmaster and the peace-activists and the troublesome threesome-"

"Like you have a problem with that! You _hate_ Potter and his pals, and you already spat on anyone with an ounce of Muggle in them, no _you_ listen, Mr. Pure-blood Malfoy! It would've done you a lot of good to read that book, you know! I thought you were different when you were actually kind to me before, but I don't know, that was probably one of your random mistakes in judgement. You have an obligation to hate me, too! Am I right? You know, it's at times like these that I _hate_ being in Slytherin and I know why I am one. Because I know, the Sorting Hat may even say this is my great ambition that landed me here, that I will _not_ sink to anyone's level, or just to anyone!" She paused for breath, and I was horrified to see the tear streaks lining her face. She had never, in all her less-than-pretty years, looked so magnificent. "So there, Draco Malfoy. I guess I was swayed by you, and I started almost being convinced. I helped you in your madness against Potter, for goodness sakes! He's- you know what, forget it. I'm sick of this. I'll... I'll... I'll talk to you later." And she fled into the girls dormitories, where I assume Pansy fixed her up.

God, why do girls PMS like that? And Potter has even converted _Milly_, for goodness sakes! Not only can he stick with his pals and Headmaster and teachers and everything, he has to stretch out his influence and take my friends, too. To think I had ever thought of him the slightest bit differently after that Diggory ordeal.

Thankfully, she emerged from the rooms, with Pansy supporting her, her face dry and calm. "I'm sorry Draco, I just overreacted." I accepted it, and hinted towards it being her time of the month. She playfully slapped my cheek (not hard), which reassured me that we were okay now, and exclaimed, "Ugh! Boys are so immature!"

"And that's why you love us, right?" I replied, just happy and relieved, smacking Pansy on the cheek. So drama's good now. Phew! I would just have to avoid the subject of Potter and books around her, just in case.

Hm, I'm still trying to expand my "epiphany" thing from the last entry. I've got an idea that might resolve a little bit of punctured pride from last year. Oh yeah, and the reason I love taunting you about random stuff, my sweet (ugh, quick mental image of Filch crooning at Mrs. Norris) book, is because I can drop hints like I can't do for anyone else I know (you won't annoy me or guess, use it against me, or force me to tell you; therefore, you are safe) while still satisfying myself...

Sorry dear, it has to be done. But my final point would have to be that you don't mind, so I can't feel guilty, now, can I? Unless you do mind... But books don't mind things, right? Other than minding the secrets of their owners, that is... I hope not...

DLM (is spooked)

_

* * *

_

_A/N: For Draco's information, what he refers to as "Potion of Peace" is actually "Draught of Peace." Personally, I find Potions a possibly thrilling class. I would certainly love to try it, though maybe with a more forgiving Master than Sevvy. I know, it's shocking, Draco and his fellow kids know Dark Magic, but you know their home environs... Oh yeah, and Milly is wise beyond her years, though it's too bad that Draco doesn't listen to her (gah, I have to wait until sixth year for enlightenment)__  
_

_*HYPERVENTILATION!* New reviewers! Yay! (If you are still a 'silent' reader, I'd love to hear from you... even if you have terrible typos... I know you're out there...)  
_

_tweetybird123: You're very welcome! Thank you for calling it 'different,' I was so worried that this had been done before, because the idea of a journal from Draco is so basic. Keep reviewing, please._

_Your Undoing: Ah yes, frightening but satisfactory, I would imagine. Though probably strictly raised, I've tried to write a slight warmth to them, especially Narcissa with her non Death-Eaterness. Can't you just imagine Mrs. Weasley exclaiming "This is so perfect!" when Ron tells her that he's getting engaged to (or just dating) Hermy? I hope this fulfilled your wishes, sorry it took so long to post. (two days instead of one- what a nightmare!)_

_mjmusiclover: You skipped it? (eyes pop out of head) YOU SKIPPED MY IMPASSIONED NOTE ABOUT DH AND MUSIC AND BEAUTY? Go back and read it, quick! Egads! (and thanks for the magically -ooh, that gives me an idea that means a one-shot is in order! Must hurry!)_

_Lovealwayshopes: Complicated? Success! This is my first fanfic, and utmost importance has been placed on the point of characterization. I do not want to be one who has all the characters the same bubbly way, or opposing JKR's wonderful, er, "seven bibles" of sorts. As a story in a review, quite excellent (as I imagine an humorously-exaggerated Voldy would have a quite Mr. Burns way of saying it) and EYE-TWINKLING indeed. *eye twitches creepily* Now why wouldn't anyone not shudder at that? Histrionic Prat was very 'excellent' indeed, Voldemort is quite stupid and arrogant sometimes. As Tom (ha, another Tom, so there, Riddle!) in Abarat wisely remarks, "Intelligence without love is an empty thing."  
_

_pigsrulealot: My disclaimers? Sorry about the terribly short one. Wish granted (sorry you had to wait twice as long as it usually takes) And of course, keep reading, keep reviewing, and I keep writing. Love? Your choice of words is so flattering! I'm thrilled, really!_

_This chapter has been slightly grammar and spell-checked now. Ack, I must have been really sleepy when I wrote this. So anyway, it should be better now._

_More updating has occured. I noticed I had completely passed over a very important scene in which Draco displays a knowledge of what's going on with Hagrid. So another entry has been added, with a few little changes to the others as well.  
_


	30. V: Composing a Quidditch Strategy

_Disclaimer: This fanfic belongs to me, not J.K.R., because I wrote it. So there, author of the seven insanely popular books that this is based on! (Plus three, FB+QA+TBB, though I have to admit I wasn't influenced as much from FB, since I don't have that one, and TBB, just because I haven't needed it)  
_

* * *

October 5, 1995

Dear Journal,

Hogsmeade again. The Slytherins enjoyed themselves last time, so there was hope for now. It was pretty unusual to have a break after only a month of school, but no complaints here.

This time, Pansy wanted to spend some time in couples, but I objected. "There's a Valentine's Day visit; that would be much more romantic!" We both suddenly recalled February fourteenth last year, which, while lightening up Pansy on the "coupling", also reminded me of my task.

With our male-female split, it was almost a return to the cliques, except that Teddy and I refused to let the other be in charge of the two boy groups. The under-the-surface warring was entertaining enough, and we kept up activities well enough, I using my Prefects badge most admirably to get the best of many things -tables, merchandise, privacy, viewability, and Teddy using his mind rather well, too.

I also purchased some random things I thought might aid me in my... erm... project. A few small badges to possibly use, and after we returned to the castle I went to the library and picked ot a few books. I know I won't be getting any books from Millicent, but what have I against non-Muggle books? Nothing, right? So after picking up a rather large, interesting book called "Hogwarts, a History" (it sounds terribly boring, I know, but one glance inside and it's pretty nice, as well as fact-filled. The author has a bearable, slightly humorous style that seems to regard everything extraordinarily important and inconsequential at the same time. And the magical spell-checking quills are certainly helpful. Though I do notice that these books do not stress upon quite overused, in Muggle literature at least, subjects like equality, while hitting upon things closer to home, like spells and doxies and blood purity), I picked up a few poetry books. (Oh dear, those parentheses are rather confusing. But you're a book, so I'm sure you can work out that last sentence.) I read a few lengthy chapters of Hogwarts: A History, in hopes of perhaps making me more interested in History of Magic (Binns is _deadly_ boring), but then I tried to pick up A History of Magic and was quite disappointed.

To take my mind off such matters, I began on my poetry books, which were all related to broomsticks and games, to try to pick out the style, and compared it to a rather wrinkled page I had saved from last year. One particularly tragic one went like this:

_The players assembled, twelve fine, hearty men,  
_

_They strapped on the cauldrons, stood poised to fly,  
_

_At the sound of the horn they were swiftly airborne,  
_

_But ten of their number were fated to die._

The syllabary count is rather odd at 11-10-12-11, but it was translated from a Gaelic poem from the eleventh century. It uses a sort of ABCB rhyming pattern, though I am still quite partial to that of the AABB. I've been trying to come up with something, and so far I've got just this:

_Weasel cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring._

It doesn't quite match, but in a song that shouldn't really matter, right?

However, I have yet to find a tune and chorus and November is fast approaching...

DLM

* * *

October 7, 1995

Dear Journal,

Longbottom, you know, the mental one, tried to attack me today! He didn't get to; Potter and Weasel held him back, which was probably better for him than for me; Vince and Greg were already preparing to protect me. I had just been boasting about how Umbridge let the Slytherins play again but not the Gryffindor team (as the imaginary position of "High Inquisitor" she has the power to ensure that only the organizations she approves will run, including Quidditch teams), and also teasing Potter about the Daily Prophet's view of his madness, much to Pansy's amusement, though Milly seems to have slipped away. In the end, no difference was made except that ten points are mysteriously missing from Gryffindor and Longbottom is quite furious with me, Potter, and Weasel.

Professor Umbridge was sitting class today, annoying Professor Snape with her insolent questions and such. Today, he gave Potter no marks as usual, though this time I find it deserved, since his potion was extremely, for a lack of a better word, badly done. I could not help smirking; if you lack the delicately nurtured skill of keeping your mind on classwork and eavesdropping at the same time, then you shouldn't dare attempt it! These are basic skills I'm discussing here!

So far, I've decided for the verses to be of a 7-8-7-5 pattern, and I've still no luck at the chorus. Here, then, is verse one:

_Weasley cannot save a thing_

_He cannot block a single ring_

_That's why Slytherins all sing_

_Weasley is our King._

Before, I wasn't very sure what the resounding line of the song would be, so I was thinking about what could come after the first two lines when I hit upon this. It rhymes perfectly with the rest of the lines -now, the challenge is, what else will rhyme with _ing_?

I can't wait to be done with this and show Pansy her boyfriend _is_ a poet!

DLM

* * *

October 14, 1995

Dear Journal,

I haven't been able to work on the project for a week, though now the badges are done (that line, "Weasley is our King!" changed everything). I was just swamped with Quidditch practices (Captain Montague seems wiser than Flint, I'll give him that) and O.W.L.s homework, but now I've gotten back to work.

So far, for the next verse, I haven't been able to get much more with _ing_, so I'm wondering if I should revert back to "near rhyme," or maybe just not try to match "King" at all. If I can do that and the song will still work, the second verse will be:

_Weasley was born in a bin_

_He always lets the Quaffle in_

_Weasley will make sure we win_

_Weasley is our King._

This follows the 7-8-7-5 syllable count, so now all I need is a tune and a chorus,

DLM

* * *

October 19, 1995

Dear Journal,

Nowhere on the tune. And I just realized, I need time to teach the song to all 70 Slytherins!

Who have to have time to memorize the song!

DLM

* * *

October 21, 1995

Dear Journal,

Time is yet running short. But I think I may have a tune, which would be

...Um... how do you write down a tune? Do I need to draw a staff? Wait, I've got it-

E E E E | F F E__ |

f-E E E E | F F C__ |

E E E E | F F A__ |

G G E D | C____

Each capital letter is a quarter note, except with a __ it's a half note and a ____ is a whole note and "f-" is a grace note. And | is a measure line, since the song goes by Common Time. The above notes work for both verses.

Now, I still need to figure out about the chorus, and I'm listening to the Weird Sisters frantically for ideas,

DLM

* * *

October 23, 1995

Dear Journal,

Okay, I've got the chorus! It works well, and is simple and not hard to remember:

G G A A | G____ | _Weasley is our King!_

G G A A | G____ | _Weasley is our King!_

f-E E E E | F F E__ | _He always lets the Quaffle in_

D D E D | C____ | _Weasley is our King._

So now I've got to find a way to teach the Slytherins in less than two weeks. I think this is a job for (heroic sounds, with trumpets and stuff) Pansy!

DLM

* * *

Dear Journal,

Pansy loves it, and is glad that my poetry skills have definitely improved. She's confident that she can get the Slytherins to listen, but she'll need to reproduce copies of the lyrics. I said sure, hastily adding "Written and Composed by Draco Malfoy."

So it's in Pansy's hands now,

DLM

* * *

October 31, 1995

Dear Journal,

The first uneventful Hallow's Eve in all my years at Hogwarts. It's not unpleasant. It could be classified as surprising, because it was quite so when Professor Snape strolled in and demanded, "What is all of this racket about?"

I explained, and I couldn't understand his expression as he stood there, mulling over it. "Should you wish to continue, I would recommend being a bit quieter about it," he finally decided in his usual cold, indifferent tone before turning around (swish go the robes), muttering "_Muffliato_," a spell I'd never heard before, and striding out the door. The assembled seventy stared at each other in bewilderment for a moment before turning back to Pansy and I, who were having fun as conductors in our final rehearsal before the game.

As soon as we were sure that everyone had it down, we headed to our dormitories and fell into a deep sleep.

Can't wait for Saturday!

DLM

* * *

November 1, 1995

Dear Journal,

The song was a rousing success. I was so proud as the Slytherins yelled and screamed, while somehow keeping in tune, I paused a moment to "conduct" them mid-flight. Weasel was having such a hard time concentrating, he didn't catch a single Quaffle.

Despite the success, we still lost, Potter snatching the Snitch right from my fingertips (it was a very narrow miss). Vince was so disappointed he smacked a bludger right into Potter immediately afterward.

But there was still cause to rejoice in the common room. I taunted them, a bit sore, I admit, that my song still did not guarantee a win, and they responded. I knew they would; I was counting on it and counting on Professor Umbridge seeing it. Unfortunately, their response wasn't what I expected. Instead of whipping out their wands, Potter and a Weasel Twin pounced on me, like lions, I suppose, and they wreaked havoc with their fists. It was worse than first year, obviously, since there were two fighters directed on me and they were both considerably stronger than an eleven year old. Potter nailed me in the gut while Weasel twin kept on slamming my head into the ground.

On the bright side, they were quickly carted away by an irate Deputy Headmistress and followed by a very evilly smug High Inquisitor. Later, news rang out, lieu of Pansy, that Potter and both Weasel twins had a _lifelong _ban for playing Quidditch. Even though I was bruised in several places and quite upset, this news was enough to quite heal me (with the help of Madam Pomfrey).

And the Slytherins have agreed that my songs will definitely be sung for every game that Gryffindor played with Weasley as their Keeper,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Draco rather grudgingly admits that Teddy is quite clever in the first entry, which I found quite necessary. _

_When I read songs in books, I try to sing the words softly to myself. This tune came to me in my attempt, and so it has always stuck in my mind as this. I'm pretty sure the tune is not original, though I have not the faintest idea of hence it came forth. This actually occurs often in my composing attempts. Once, I had a nice, sweet "happy day" song, the lyrics I composed in my head, and when sung aloud I very much liked the tune. Then one day I discovered that it was actually the beginning of the song by Nickelback, "Saturday Night", which was extremely different in essence than the lyrics of my song._

_So basically, if you have some instrument, could you please try this song out, and if you place the sound tell me, so I can give respect where respect is due? Thanks!_

_pigsrulealot: A lot of explaining? Perhaps... *tries to suppress cackle* Hm. One of the reasons I kept him from liking that 12-year olds are snogging is because I don't like the (fanfiction born) depiction of Draco as some kind of Slytherin Sex God. It's rather OOC for me, and you know that this being OOC would be my worst nightmare!  
_

_Lovealwayshopes: Ah yes, Milly. Milly, who has become the closest to an OC that I've written, is AWESOME. I just really wanted to make an AWESOME Slytherin. Yeah, Pansy isn't any good in general, but neither is Draco, right? This is my way of kind of showing that within the serpent, there is, erm, I can't remember exactly how the metaphor in The Seven Songs of Merlin goes, but there's a good part, too. Most people are parts good and parts bad, that's one of the themes of the Seven Songs of Merlin (and there are several). JKR is marvelous at making her characters partly good partly not so much, except one person: According to the HP books, Voldy is just plain evil, right down to his childhood, which I kind of don't get in such a well charactered series, but oh well... hm yes, for the _present_ indeed..._


	31. V: See Death, See Eaters

_Disclaimer: Okay, you win. I admit it; everything that follows belongs to me and me only._

_Disclaimer number dos: The above disclaimer is purposefully false and therefore cannot be regarded as anything other when discussed in legal proceedings._

* * *

November 17, 1995_  
_

Dear Journal,

Prof. GP is gone, and Prof. Hagrid is back.

"No, that's not a good thing," I patiently explained to Gregory, who had indeed forgotten entirely that a half giant ever taught at Hogwarts.

Vince seemed to understand about Professor Hagrid quite well, but kept pestering Pansy with his soft questions anyway ("so I'm really not in trouble for breaking the rules in my first Quidditch game?" "Montague isn't mad at me?" "My lines were _I will not attempt to harm, mutilate, or in any way show aggression outside of the boundaries of a Quidditch match._ What does _boundaries_ and _mutilate_ mean?" "What does disfigure mean?" "...so does that mean I shouldn't try to pick fights in the halls?"), to which Pansy kept up a stream of equally unrelenting answers ("nope" "not remotely, he's proud you made your target" "limit, disfigure" "mutilate" "of course you should continue, just not in the view of a teacher or referee").

Anyway, the oaf looks terribly scarred, which is worrisome -not that I care about his well-being or anything, it just might reflect upon the creatures we're going to see tomorrow.

Vince and Pansy have finally stopped their pointless drivel, and Pansy wants me to play Gobstones with her. She also would like to convey the message that she's very pleased that I am really writing in you and have a lot of pages under my belt.

So, book, Pansy is very pleased that I am writing in you,

DLM

* * *

November 18, 1995

Dear Journal,

Hm, did I write "the creatures we're going to see" in my last entry? Oops. In fact, I, Pansy, Vince, Greg, Teddy, Tracey, Milly, and Daph saw no creatures at all, barring the half-giant and half-toad.

It was an eerie beginning to an eerie lesson, as the oaf shouted jovially that we were working in the Forbidden Forest. Forbidden. Right. Am I the only one who finds it particularly disconcerting that this Professor Hagrid has, twice in my very personal experience, three times if my assumptions are correct, defied regulations set for the safety of the common society? My personal experience has him dragging students into the forest, now being the second time, against their will. And my assumption would be that he had illegally bred those foul Blast-Ended Skrewts. Not one textbook on Magical Creatures anywhere has covered or mentioned them remotely.

Well, anyway, he dragged us into the forest, argued with me (though I must say more than half the class was on my side), made this freaky "call", at which point all the students were too terrified to mutter a sound, and then the large slabs of meat he had brought started being eaten by, apparently, nothing.

Eerie? Unbelievably. And when that Indian girl (the one that unhappily went with Potty to the Yule Ball last year) started voicing that they were "unlucky," this only increased the sense of foreboding.

Which vanished at the very welcome and familiar sight of the half-toad. She spoke in a slow, stupid voice as if Prof. Hagrid was as mentally retarded as Longbottom, quickly noting "has to resort to crude sign language" and "appears to have short term memory" for practically no reason. Then she wrote "shows signs of pleasure at the idea of violence," which I might have to half-agree on. Pansy and I were trying and failing miserably to suppress our laughter, so Pansy had the good sense to mutter "Silencio!"

When Professor Umbridge approached us, Pansy hastily removed the spell and was attacked by a fit of giggles as she masterfully answered. It was at times like these I admired my girlfriend all the more- her sharp intelligence, which could sometimes be forgotten when snogging or trying to listen to her drone about gossip and clothing, showed itself randomly, viciously, and wonderfully. Though, on further reflection, if I paid more attention to the vines she wove day in and day out, I would probably see more of it.

Not to be outdone, I quickly interrupted Professor Hagrid, working off of Pansy's genius. If it were in any other class, I would never dare, but under this quite incompetent teacher (passing over the creatures he exposes us to, he has no control over his class!) my efforts went both unnoticed (in the bad you-are-getting-detention way) and noticed (in the Pansy-thinks-her-boyfriend-is-clever way).

After the class terminated, I followed the troublesome threesome for a moment, to find a moment to make any kind of snide comment. We weren't fussy on what it pertained to. They were still talking about the thestrels, so I put in "D'you reckon if you saw someone snuf it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?" before hurrying back to Pansy, singing "Weasley is Our King" for good measure.

Perhaps someone might ask, is there more to life than taunting Weasley?

I say, on this fine snowing evening, who cares?

DLM

* * *

November 19, 1995

Dear Journal,

Something odd happened today. I realized that Blaise was somewhat upset with me.

Now, this realization took a while, because Blaise doesn't talk to me in general very much; he's usually too busy keeping up his "reputation" and spending his time with Teddy. But sometimes you notice when there's stony silence from across the dormitory, or the Slytherin table.

So, naturally, I tried to ask him about it. He said, "I dunno. He's been upset since yesterday. Ask him yourself."

"Teddy," I said, not eager to face an individual who has the potential of blowing up at me, "If you can't, how am I s'posed to get a straight answer out of him?"

Teddy just grinned maliciously at my discomfort. "Hey, you know what they say. Unwilling information can be gathered in two ways: alcohol... and anger."

Although I had never heard that before (and after careful research still do not find that phrase any less unfamiliar), I had to listen to the wisdom of his very Slytherin statement. Unable to devise means to obtain any Firewhiskey in a timely manner, I called to the dark-skinned boy as we were readying for bed, "Hey, Blaise."

He did not respond.

I walked over to him, and poked him in the bicep. "Hello? Anyone home?"

As my poking became more vigorous, he finally looked up and rudely muttered, "What do you want, Draco?"

"Why're you ignoring me?"

Apparently, that was a question he didn't want to answer, because he resumed as if I wasn't there at all. I jabbed him viciously again, right in the muscle.

"Because of what you said to Potter!" Not expecting that, my immediate reaction was: first Milly, but how did he get to Blaise?!

"What?" Very eloquent and smooth and Malfoy-worthy, to be sure.

"You said, 'if you saw someone die would you be able to catch the Quaffle?'" Not my exact words. "And it was just so quick and well-said and aloof, and I obviously couldn't say anything, but you just made yet another clever remark, yet another moment when you earn a snog. No matter how much I do, you're the popular one! You're the one who everyo- This is stupid! Why am I explaining this to you? Am I a girl, or a Hufflepuff?" and wiping his slanted eyes with his half-on pajamas, he tried to terminate the talking for a once again.

This time, I let him, and laid on my back, contemplating Blaise's (misplaced?) anger. I remembered the lesson, but what had struck me earlier was just how Teddy had stared, with dislike, at the chunks being torn out of the carcasses. He wasn't just staring at the meat; he was staring at the _things_ devouring. And yet, it wasn't he who was touchy for that reason, he was just indifferent. _What kind of death was this_, I wondered _To not care when the memory is mocked... by this petty popularity drivel of your best mate?_

_...and by me?_ I turned my head to face, unseeingly, the thin, almost weedy Slytherin sprawled over his covers on this chilly November night. _Is Blaise his best mate, really? Or is he just someone to put up with?_

Who is this fifteen-year old boy who has seen death?

And am I really that popular?

DLM

* * *

_A/N: If it helps in your feelings about Blaise, I imagine him to be not only a "tall, black boy" but a muscular one, too. But that's irrelevant. I also took Ginny's statement of him as a "poser" to heart, seeing how little canon I have to reference. And you know how much I love canon. (8-21-1995 note: so much for canon! I accidentally assumed wrongly about which Slytherin dude had seen the thestrals. Now, above, you can see that I changed it, but sorry for the seven people, including mjmusiclover and Wildfire Sniper, that read it before I corrected myself)  
_

_And by the way, I wanted to call this chapter Seeing Death is More than Quoting Sixth Sense, but apparently that's too long.  
_

_To my darling reviewers: (a new one! Joy!)  
_

_mjmusiclover: More like reminded, but thanks. I still haven't written it though, since the idea isn't quite formed enough in my mind to start. What he did, really, was just what he's been doing for his entire school career. Hm, maybe I should start counting rocks..._

_pigsrulealot: Thanks for actually going over the notes (as far as I can tell, you're the only one)! I found the notes on the piano in the first place (I'm not one of those amazing people who can think of a tune and know, I'm afraid). Of course he is, as well as insecure and immature. Isn't everyone sensitive on the inside (except Voldemort, apparently, because JKR practically wrote in HBP that he was bad from the beginning)?_

_NectarAndAmbrosia: Because you'll probably come across this a long time from the moment of that review, let me be one to announce that the date of the review I'm responding to is _2009-08-19_, to perhaps refresh your memory. I'm glad you love it! and thanks for the near Great and saying "love" twice. Keep reading, it gets better beyond the introduction, I assure you!  
_


	32. V: Hanging Until the Holidays

_Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling was written by Harry Potter. Wait, no, that's not right..._

_**IMPORTANT (PLEASE HEED MY WORDS!):** Canon-crazy as I am, I screwed up horribly in Draco's last entry, because I made the mistake of thinking that Blaise was the one who can see thestrals. It's Teddy. Which, of course, changes everything about that entry. Especially characterization, which is, to me, SUPER important. **So, if you are one of the seven people (including mjmusiclover and Wildfire Sniper) who read the previous chapter the day I wrote it (2009-08-21), please re-read the last entry of the chapter.** Thank you for reading this notice.  
_

_

* * *

_November 20, 1995

Dear Journal,

Today, I sat, instead of between Pansy and Greg, between Pansy and a sixth year. More importantly, across from Teddy and Blaise.

I purposefully caught Teddy's eye, and used the quick (previously DADA-used) spell to message "_My condolences for your loss_." He read it, stared at it for a moment, and gestured covertly to Blaise, who was too busy looking sullen and rebellious to notice. I understood that he was wondering if the message was misdirected.

Shaking my head, I let it then fall to silence and turned to my unaware girlfriend, wondering if Blaise was envious of me having her as well. What about Tracey? Did he even care about her? The dark haired, vivacious girl beside him, chattering away to an attentive Asteria about hair-care, contrasted his countenance so wildly I felt like laughing -Instead, I gave the surprised Pansy a tight, one-handed, sideways hug around the waist and smacked her on the cheek. She shrieked before the kiss, and then smiled warmly at me.

We were both at quite a loss of what to say, so after staring stupidly at each other for a moment, she shrugged, grinned again, and we turned back to our meal, among the playful protests of Milly, "Oh, get a room!" However, I think I may have started an odd chain-reaction, as several girls glanced up expectantly at their significant others.

As my sly dorm mates uttered eloquent excuses and promises, I felt like I won.

Stupid, but satisfying,

DLM

* * *

December 10, 1995

Dear Journal,

Sometimes, one wishes that they weren't prefects. Then again, it has to be expected, doesn't it? All this work, it's like we're house elves. And oh yeah, Mother and Father still have yet to find a new one. Obtaining a new elf is supposed to be exceedingly difficult, with all kinds of pleasantries and trivialities and manners and proprieties and delicacies to be dealt with.

But we're not that bad to house-elves, right? Erm... we don't spoil them, and we don't scold them that often. See? House-elves ought to be queuing up for the position of Malfoy Manor servitude!

What was I writing about again? Oh yes, work. Well, with the snow coming down hard, the professors has deemed it appropriate to match our homework to the weather. And on top of that, we've got to decorate (Christmas- all this green (greenery) and silver (tinsel) is quite fitting, isn't it? I'll leave the red baubles for Weasel to deal with) the entire castle, supervise the first and second-years (so mischievous I would burst with pride if they weren't so d-ack annoying), and patrol corridors (Filch thinks that their might be people wizard-dueling, as a result of Christmas spirit. Perhaps he's seen Blaise's moods when he gets a pair of socks, or the grouchy squib has just snogged Mrs. Norris one too many times. Actually, it is of Pansy's opinion that Madam Pince is the object of his affections, but I cannot say either would be very good for his mental health.)

Definitely going home for the holidays this year, Mother and Father haven't seen me in a while, and I don't want to give Filth, I mean Filch, another chance to pounce on me with more random prefect chores.

Oh yeah, and the Blaise thing. I'm starting to get the feeling that he is unbearably _fake_, if you know what I mean? Of course you do. You're my journal. You can't live with me for four years and not know what I mean. Then again, I probably shouldn't be condemning him for trying to look good in public.

I mean, he's a fellow dorm-mate, who I've known for four years. Surely just because his mother had seven husbands and is not a Death Eater doesn't mean anything. He can't be that bad if he's a Slytherin, right?

On the inside, he must be somewhat the same as me...

DLM

* * *

December 18, 1995

Dear Journal,

Potter and all of the Weasels have left Hogwarts. I'm not really sure how that's possible without the Hogwarts Express, but they've done it, apparently. The Mudblood's still here, but it doesn't matter.

There was, however, an extensively small bit in the Daily Prophet that said "Arnold Weasley, a trivial Ministry official, is currently in St. Mungo's with a seriously life-threatening injury due to a small accident. St. Mungo's is working very hard to sustain the aging man. Should he survive the night, the Ministry certainly ought to warn their employees about such foolishness to avoid these incidents in the future." It was a terribly tiny article, but at the absence of details, the Slytherins caught what was meant -Arthur Weasley had made his allegiances in the Wizarding War clear, been punished, and the Ministry, denying the Dark Lord's current existence, is trying to cast a shadow on the man's nonexistent reputation while warning the more enlightened against supporting Albus Dumbledore, as Mr. Weasley had been doing.

The matter, then, only explains a few absences and shows how much the Dark Lord has the upper hand,

DLM

* * *

December 22, 1995

Dear Journal,

Home free! After a tearful (I mean, snogful) parting from Pansy, I have reached the comfortable and lavish interior of Malfoy Manor. I quite enjoy the attentions I'm given (Potter, even when considered a lunatic, is still unnervingly popular), and do not at all miss homework (though I have some) and prefect duties (Mother makes me cook every now and then, but that isn't too bad, especially since this random, old, and ugly house-elf is visiting and eager to serve. He's fairly kind to us all, since apparently his related to us on Mother's side).

Christmas in a few days, and Mother insists that we've _got_ to have the Parkinsons over for dinner. I'm not sure whether this is terrible or wonderful, but I heard her talking through the fire this morning, "Hello, Mrs. Parkinson? I was wondering if your family would like to come and dine with us on Christmas? I would understand if you had plans-" apparently, Mrs. Parkinson was apprehensive, because Mother hurried on "Oh, but I was so sure that your family was a very prestigious pure-blood family that agreed and supported the Dark Lord's regime," Mother's voice was growing stronger and less persuasive than threatening. With her next words, though, the unpleasant strains in her voice completely vanished as she gushed innocently, "Oh, that's wonderful! I'll tell the house elf we're expecting you -poor thing is quite frightened of visitors, so you might not see him- oh, how simply marvelous, I'm sure Draco will be delighted to meet up with your charming daughter"- she paused a moment "Ah yes, should I have mentioned them? He's just dying to see her, he's been talking nonstop-"

At this point I exclaimed, "Mother!"

"Oh dear, I've got to go, sorry dear, see you on Tuesday" and she yanked her head out of the emerald flames, which reminded me unpleasantly of Potter's eyes, picked herself up from the floor, and turned to me, eyes bright with excitement. "Oh, Draco darling, isn't this simply marvelous? You'll be seeing your girlfriend tomorrow! I'll try to keep Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson occupied if you'd like to sneak upstairs and- Oh, young romance! Just like your father and I" she gave a sudden, slightly reminiscent, and lascivious smile I did not like to see, but it vanished instantly into a look of concern as she checked her watch. "Oh, my! Are you hungry, dear? I'll whip up breakfast in an instant, I promise. Oh, how the time flies!" and she hastily kissed me on the cheek before bustling to the kitchen, then realizing that there was a house-elf present, smirked at this justice, and called "Creature!" or something very similar.

Now that I consider it, I'm not entirely sure if, saying "how the time flies," she meant the minutes of her Floo call or the years since I thought that Pansy had "cooties."

Whatever it is,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: I've made Narcissa slightly more demented, inspired by Your Undoing's comment a few chapters ago about his "strange and often scary upbringing." I did some thinking and tried to portray his mother with what I knew; Draco Malfoy is spoiled, his father is slightly evil, and Narcissa cares a lot about him.  
_

_I'm probably making her sillier than she seemed in the books, but remember, she is talking to the boy that she spoils horribly and probably does not treat him quite like she treats her sister but not quite like the Dursleys treat Dudley._

_ (**Update 9-19-2009:** I've just remembered to add the presence of Kreacher, whose name does sound awfully like creature, don't you think?)_

_The Fantasmagorific (credits to Princess Bride) Reviewers (who, I hope, reread Chapter 31)  
_

_mjmusiclover: Small, simple, and a comment. Wasn't that easy to write? See, reviews aren't so bad *stares pointedly at readers she believes exist*_

_Wildfire Sniper: Hiya! Some hopes are so easy to turn into reality! (while others...) Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you're there and that you like it, because I write to not only satisfy myself but the readers that I imagine exist.  
_

_...  
_

_And if anyone is interested, I'm currently listening to "Fix You" by Coldplay, which is another great song like "Better Days" that reflect DH in its quieter, more subtle, equally moving ways._

_"Tears stream/down your face/when you lose something/you cannot replace... Lights will guide you home... And I will try to fix you"_


	33. V: Next to No Regrets

_Disclaimer: Zzz... Oh, sorry, it's just that I've been getting terribly tired of writing unnecessary messages._

_

* * *

_December 25, 1995

Dear Journal,

As promised, Mother and Father began to talk about the Dark Lord and such, under the cover of which Pansy and I slipped up the spiral staircase and away.

In the privacy of my room, I related to her how Mother had schemed to let us get away, voicing, "Mothers shouldn't know about that kind of stuff!"

My dear girlfriend cackled madly and fell across my bed, so that her body was parallel to the pillows. "How could she even be a mother _without_ knowing that kind of stuff? How do you think you were born? How do you think everyone in the world was born?"

"Um... the Greek goddess Athena came out of Zeus' head!" I feebly defended myself.

"Yeah," she snorted, sitting up "I can totally see your father cracking his head open to save you. And it just makes perfect sense that he's alive today, because obviously he was blessed by the healing powers of Hecate!" I stuck out my tongue insolently, and she grinned and suddenly we were snogging again.

A decade of minutes later, we fell apart, breathing heavily. "Hm... do you want to play a card game?" I queried, to break the silence.

Her eyes lighted up. I was right in my memory. "Which one?"

"Anything you like," I offered graciously, adjusting my position so that we were facing each other, cross-legged, with the deck between us. After she had beaten me a grand total of 47 times in twelve different games, a knock came from the door. "Enter!"

Mother opened the door wide, raised her thin, light eyebrows at the cards, and said, "Dessert is ready, if you'd like to come downstairs."

We hastily hopped off the bed. "Hey Draco?" she had a mischevious glint in her eye as she stared lovingly at the spiral staircase. "Have you ever slid down that thing?"

Taken aback, I just said, "It never occured to me." And then, without any explanation, she had leapt onto the railing and was flying down the stairs. Disaster processed in my mind, and I called randomly, "ACCIO PANSY!" She flew up the steps at me, catching onto the wall to stop herself.

"You look a mess! What will they think of us if they see you like _that_?" I cried, trying to comb through her hair with my fingers. She patted me away, and pointed her wand at her head, which quickly curled itself into an elegant do once again. Without allowing her another moment to do something foolish, I swept her downstairs and we arrived, huffing, for dessert.

They left quickly after that, Pansy blowing a kiss. Mother locked up and Father started putting on his robes. They were black and hooded. "Father, you're going out? On Christmas?"

"Ministry business," he said vaguely, apparating away.

Most offices in the Ministry are closed today.

Father's a bad liar,

DLM

* * *

January 1, 1996

Dear Journal,

Winter vacation is unusually long this year. Perhaps it's to make up for the short summer.

Yikes. So much for my New Year's resolution. The only contact in the Malfoy Manor was Father pecking Mother on the cheek.

I suppose I had a good snog on Christmas, at least.

DLM

* * *

January 2, 1996

Dear Journal,

The Holidays are coming to an unfortunate close, marked by the sudden and unpleasant contemplation of the mounds of homework I've got to do.

Father's never around, by the way. He is often going out for what I assume is more "Ministry business." He keeps his black cloak wrapped around him especially tight, in the frigid december nights.

I wonder what the next Defense Against the Dark Arts will bring to light. Unless, of course, the woman is replaced by a competent teacher. But I doubt Father will allow that to happen. She is Fudge, just much more outgoing in her exploits with Dark Magic and corruption.

I figured that out when, early October, I complained that I wasn't learning anything. That was when, instead of sending a complaint about this absurd professor, he started sending books with a -er- more direct approach to defending oneself. I find this relevant to now because I realized that perhaps I ought to share them with Milly. She's shared her Muggle rubbish with me long enough, and with no obligation whatsoever to do so.

So, for the sake of manners?

DLM

* * *

January 11, 1996

Dear Journal,

The train today. Pansy is positive that Christmas marked a vital point for our relationship. I was slightly convinced too, just because when parents are involved, it's like I'm obligated to her and she to me.

Not that that's a bad thing. So far, it's been great. I mean, she's touchy. But that's a normal girl thing, I'm sure. And she has violent mood swings and passions. Which is also normal, right? So, technically, the parent thing shouldn't change anything. But it's a bit stressful.

I mean, when I voiced my nervousness, she became very defensive. "Draco, why should you be worried?" she demanded. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"No, no," I hastily amended. "It's just a lot of pressure now."

"Pressure? To do what? To not break up with me? You aren't _planning_ to do that, so you wouldn't have to!" She glared, which was an obvious implied "_RIGHT?"_.

"Pansy, I'm not breaking up with you! It's like..." I cast my mind around for an analogy "..remember when you wanted to slide down the stairs? Wouldn't it have been slightly more difficult if it wasn't just some instinct, but instead everyone was expecting you to go down, telling you you've got no choice in the matter, you've _got _to go downstairs that way?"

Instead of understanding, she snarled, "Afterwards, you said that it was one of the most fool things you've ever seen me do. Is our relationship just some fool thing to you, that you regret?"

Okay. Bad analogy. I put a finger to my lips. "Nevermind, Pansy," I said slowly. "Don't worry about it. _I'm not breaking up with you_. _I have no regrets._ Our relationship is _fine_. I'm sorry for mentioning it. It's _nothing_."

I held out my arms as a peace offering, "Friends?"

"_More_ than friends," she corrected, and accepted my embrace, turning it into a snog session in a way that only she could.

No regrets,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Sorry it's so short, but it was a little interval for me to lay more groundwork for their eventual fallout. Two my credit, it's my second chapter today!_

_To my lone reviewer: (who I would love to see joined by more)  
_

_mjmusiclover: Socks, eh? Are you referring to Ron's violet pair, Uncle Vernon's yellow knobbly ones, the red one with the broomsticks, or the green one with the Snitches? Okay, the current rock count: 20. Ratio of rocks to chapters? 5:8. Percentage? 62%. Ratio of rocks to reviews? 1:1. Percentage? 100%. Ratio of rocks to reviews containing rocks? 4:3. Percentage? 133%.mjmusiclover: Socks, eh? Are you referring to Ron's violet pair, Uncle Vernon's yellow knobbly ones, the red one with the broomsticks, or the green one with the Snitches? Okay, the current rock count: 20. Ratio of rocks to chapters? 5:8. Percentage? 62%. Ratio of rocks to reviews? 1:1. Percentage? 100%. Ratio of rocks to reviews containing rocks? 4:3. Percentage? 133%.  
_


	34. V: Prison Break

_Disclaimer: Guess what? Chicken butt. I know, juvenile, but JKR doesn't own this, so I had to._

_If that doesn't really make sense, deal with it._

_LoVE, lOOnynAMeLasS  
_

_

* * *

_January 13, 1996

Dear Journal,

Aunt Bella has escaped from Azkaban, and she's brought nine other Death Eaters with her. It was a bit odd to read about the misdeeds of your relatives in the paper, yet darkly interesting as well. She tortured the Longbottoms into insanity? No wonder Mother doesn't speak of her much, that's not quite content suitable for young children.

The atmosphere at school is really tense, now, and the barrier between Slytherin and Gruffleclaw is yet more pronounced. Above anything else, we know that the more these dark powers and fears escalate, the more the rift will grow. There is a lot more messaging to do in DADA, and Milly and Tracey are a lot more upset at being out of the loop.

"Do we have to be left in limbo, just waiting for either the rest of the school to welcome us or you guys to? Seriously, we're not mudbloods or traitors or anything, we just want to _know_," insisted they, more or less together. But, of course, we can't tell them. And it's annoying their brains out.

So much so that they'll even resort to stealing eavesdropping devices from the Weasel twins to extort mangled information from us. Unfortunately, being Slytherins ourselves, we found new ways to evade their ever flourishing resources, ranging from Darkness to MADNESS. I should have never lent Milly those books!

It's also exceedingly unsettling that their desperation is such that they're actually working together. I mean, what do they have common? Other than gender and house and the ability to hold grudges (which is obviously failing them now) and goal. Milly is an awkward half-blood bookworm who has a powerful sense of self. Tracey is a "popular" pure-blood snooty follower of Witch Weekly and my girlfriend. Similar? I don't think so.

Then again, Tracey has been getting upset with Pansy a lot lately, as well as nosing in questionable reading material like _Curses and Counter-curses__ (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More)._ And they're both Slytherin. But that doesn't really mean anything. They're still just... too different.

It just goes to show that even such adverse people can be brought together in dire circumstances.

But sometimes, they're just too different. Can you, for a moment, imagine Granger and I remotely getting along? Unfathomable. And Potter hasn't liked me from the moment we set eyes on each other. Even before school he had some weird disdain for me. And Weasel... He hates me because of how I treat his friends, in all honesty. He's just so steadfast and hot-tempered. ...Now, those aren't the traits of a good Slytherin, are they?

Hm, I got off topic. Well, anyway, Milly likes collared shirts with stripes (horizontal, she is under a firm conviction that they make her look thinner. I am under a firm conviction that it's just easier to play Quidditch obsessively) and Tracey wears sequins. Need I say more?

I'm still on tangent though... Yes, so Cissy's sissy (murderous, messy-haired, and in deep infatuation with the Dark Lord -recognize her?) is at my house at the moment. Doing who knows what. No, not the other one. I wonder what happened to that sister... Whenever I ask Mother, she says, "There is no other sister" very firmly.

Another one of those "secrets."

Isn't it funny that when adults are doing their best to keep you in the dark, our thirst for news is practically insatiable?

DLM

* * *

January 13, 1996

Dear Journal,

Apparently, another (anti-dark, probably) ministry person died. Oh wait, Arthur Weasley didn't die. This one was strangled by deadly moss or something that we'll learn about in Prof. Sprout's class in a few years.

Oh yeah, and the oaf's on probation.

Father owled about it, but Pansy's been hearing it echoed everywhere. Do you think he's trying to get him back for second year?

DLM

* * *

January 14, 1996

Dear Journal,

Another decree. This one prohibits the freedom of speech of the teachers.

Good thing we're not teachers,

DLM

* * *

February 7, 1996

Dear Journal,

Pansy is extremely thrilled, to an extent which is quite unnecessary, about our date in a week.

"Now, I _know_ that you can make better poetry, so this year better be better than last time," she said in her demanding air.

"Alas," I sighed plaintively. "Can I not just snog you senseless and be done with it?"

Shaking her head firmly, she made herself more comfortable at my side and began to do homework.

Discussion ended rather quickly, don't you think?

DLM

* * *

February 14, 1996

Dear Journal,

And so arrived the date of the date.

We decided to meet up in Hogsmeade. I was feeling confident, assured of less Gryffindors wreaking havoc due to strange and unpleasant Quidditch tactics (of their captain, Johnson. I'm not complaining)

Very much my part as gracious date, I swept to her and gave her my coat as it started to rain. She accepted it gratefully, so I supposed the rain was not a bad omen before starting to listen to her excited drabbles.

"-met Potter and that sixth-year, Chang. Can you believe it? From that _hot_ Triwizard champion to Potter? Not so much as you, of course," she added at my lazily raised eyebrow, "Anyway, so I made a comment on her questionable taste, and when we went there was an absolutely horrid awkward silence between them."

I realized that was she had completed her tale, and held her a little closer as the intensity of the raindrops increased. The girl in my striped sweater quickly suggested a coffee shop, but when we neared it, we noticed Potty and Chang regarding each other rather coldly within the confines of the warmth and frills, so, without slowing our pace, walked past and towards the Three Broomsticks.

We exhaled, immersing ourselves in warmth, before staring at each other. "So... is this the part where I snog you senseless?" which got me a smirk, and then we did just that.

It was nice.

For some reason, it did not last. "Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go outside again?" I stared, dumbstruck, at the splattering of water on the windows, harder than ever.

"What?"

"It might be fun! We could use a drying spell," she wheedled, and so I agreed.

Slipping out into the rain, we were drenched from head to toe. Well, not really -we had each performed a few drying spells here and there to keep partially warm.

We did a full circle around the shops, looking past the Death Eater posters to the merchandise available. Far off, we saw two figures leave the coffee shop that Pansy had recommended earlier. And we were quick to deduce that if two were leaving, there was room for two more. We ran to the establishment, our drying spells long worn off, and pelted to the free seats near the window.

"_Aha!_" I cried triumphantly. "_Now_ I snog you senseless."

She rolled her eyes, but said, "_Fine_."

And so we did. And this time I broke apart early and whispered in her ear, "There was a girl..."

Kiss said girl.

"Eyes like pearl..."

Stare into said eyes.

"A figure fine..."

Hold said figure.

"Lips that shine..."

Snog.

"She was coy..."

Continue.

"And caught a boy..."

Mm

"She, like sun rays..."

Stroke her dark locks.

"never ceases to amaze..."

Try to amaze.

Pansy was amazed. Or, at least, very happily surprised. She said, "Did you come up with that just now?"

I considered. "No, I thought of it in the rain." She smirked beatifically.

We glanced around at the other couples, chatting, holding hands, and snogging.

The day passed in a relaxed combination of the three, so that we floated blissfully away from the world of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters and dementors.

But you can't escape reality's prison forever,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: By the way, I really like the title I made for the last chapter because it has a kind of duality in it reminiscent of JKR's chapter titles. That makes me happy. The "unfathomable!" comment was for Dramione shippers everywhere to laugh._

_If I have ANY male readers left, I sincerely apologize for the snogging-poem. What can I say? Draco and Pansy like snogging each other.  
_

_To my reviewers: (woohoo! ratio 2:1 reviews:chapters! Keep it up!)_

_mjmusiclover: However, Ron never wore his pair, while the green sock with snitches have been worn on the night upon which black-haired boy traipsed on beautiful indian awesomeness' feet and blue eyed-but green eyed with envy didn't even step on twin of beautiful indian awesomeness' feet then resulting in both beautiful indian awesomenesses meeting some beaux from Beauxbatons and everything was just fine until envy-boy yelled at awesome-bushy-pretty-lady. If you recall that scene, you should know what I'm talking about. So you would rather have Harry's stinkiness than Ron's cleanliness? Fair enough, but they have all gone through Dobby. (Rocks: 23. Reviews: 21)_

_Lovealwayshopes: Ah, there you are! You have good sneaking suspicions, I'll give you that. And a new chapter. Heh, I actually do own all of the Coldplay CDS, as well as LeftRightLeftRightLeft. I just haven't heard all of them yet. As far as it goes, I do enjoy Strawberry Swing a lot, it's one of my first favorites of them. I have heard Message before, I just didn't realize it was called that (and now, thanks to you, it's stuck in my head). As for "See You Soon"... I recognize it not. Go clean, then, and clean your mind of those honeymooners._

_Of Crimson Moonlight: 2009-08-23 Yeah, I'm dating this because as far as I can tell, you are on chapter four at the time of this typing, and by the time you get here you may have sent other reviews and this would just be that first one that you faintly recall. Smiling, I have to say, is pretty awesome, because not only is it HAPPY!, it lowers your blood pressure. And high blood pressure is baaaaad. So smile!  
_


	35. V: Slytherin Unity

_Disclaimer: Refer back to previous chapters.

* * *

_

February 21, 1996

Dear Journal,

Slytherin's compassion is surely greater than we are credited for. We not only sing for Slytherin matches, but for Hufflepuff as well!

Anyways, Hufflepuff _creamed_ Gryffindor. Despite only winning by ten points, the truth is there.

So, what, you ask, made Gryffindor's performance so abhorrently abysmal? Several points that it is rather marvelous to dwell on. There is the performance of the beaters, on one hand. One of them fell backwards off his broom, which was especially satisfying to watch.

And then, there was our King... Weasley. Failing to save a grand total of twenty four goals, of which the most memorable was number fourteen, we were spurred on to greater vocal heights. I swear, I believe that even Gregory partially salvaged his voice from the off-key clutches of E flat minor. And when Gregory is in tune, you just know that we're improving.

The best part, I believe, was that the other players were great, yet still not great enough to dispel the damage their others dealt. The new seeker, Weaselette, caught the Snitch. The old chasers, Johnson, Bell, and Spinnet, got in 8 goals, which is a considerable achievement when considering how bludgers, unbeaten, pelted after them.

So Slytherin can and shall create "a magic beyond all we do here!" and it is more evidential support of bias that the Headmaster does not commend our valiant efforts,

DLM

* * *

February 23, 1996

Dear Journal,

And information has come, in a very unexpected way. Though I make a point to take the Daily Prophet daily (even in the common case of nothing new or important, it is amusing and gratifying to witness that Potter is not quite so admired as usual), I still did not receive this news early as usual. In fact, by breakfast only a few Ravenclaws sitting near Loony Lovegood (an unfortunate arrangement that only today they did not regret) and Gryffindors that Loony Lovegood then visited knew what was going on.

And then there was a mysterious new decree that gave curiosity no bounds.

...but satisfaction brought it back. And so, the careful denizens of Hogwarts (seriously, as I noted before, Professor Umbridge has a habit of underestimation of children) flashed the magazine across the universe and memorized its contents immediately. The Ravenclaws were the first to know the full contents of it due to the publicity skills of outcast Loony Lovegood. Then they sought to spread the word.

Not to us, of course. But Slytherin has never expected very much outer-house support, and we are quite capable handling our own.

So, after a few hours, mere moments after the decree compared to if the decree had never been posted, we could all quote the article word by revolting, vomitous, despicable word.

I held the parchment in my shaking hands, staring at my surname etched into it. _Potter_. Vincent and Greg had gone similarly shell-shocked, reading over my shoulder. Instead of passing it on to Pansy, I discreetly gave it to Teddy. He raised his eyebrows at me, glancing at the bewildered girl beside me, before beginning to read. Before he was done, his fists were clenched and his eyes were narrowed.

There was silence as he slowly moved his head to look at me. He deftly tossed the article to the ground. Blaise, unnerved by this response, retrieved it and smoothed it out before banishing the words. Teddy closed his eyes, and opened them again. "A clever game they play," he growled softly, still aware of our library environment. Blaise and Pansy, seeing that they were unwelcome, swiftly left without a word, holding the parchment. Vince, Greg, Teddy, and I sat around the table, I across from Teddy.

Vince spoke in his quiet, unused-sounding voice. "Can we tell him off and dock points, please?" Slytherins only use _please_ when they really want something.

Before I had the chance to consider, Teddy replied angrily, "No, you dolt, then we're acknowledging that we read the article!"

I swore frustratedly. "There's nothing we can do?" The words slipped out with difficulty, for I was not accustomed with turning to another as my superior.

"Nothing conventional," he said with a lazy half-smile returning to his voice as he visibly fell back into his regular reassured self. "But anything we do will come to no real avail. Alas, why be upset?"

Vince and I pondered this, but Gregory grunted, "What do you mean, why be upset? He's accusing our parents! We ought to pummel him."

"Accusing someone of something that's true is no crime," I drawled, trying to not be completely overshadowed, "and so what? The accusations are nothing to be ashamed of. Are you ashamed of your father's allegiances, Gregory?" It was a challenge.

The bulk to my left just glared briefly in response, and we outwardly relaxed around the library table. But part of us was still slightly infuriated by the article's contents, and a bit confused. Or at least, that's how it was for me. For all I know, Gregory and Vince were actually observing the growth of their fingernails. And Teddy? I knew nothing; but he was so composed, so normal, that it seemed that this article meant naught to him...

I tried to imagine a Death Eater meeting, the way Potter had described it. They had all stood in a circle... Only one Death Eater had been addressed by first name, and that was Father... He must be a very high-ranking Death Eater... They crawled on the dirt to the Dark Lord; how many times had Father criticized the Weasleys, for living in dirt?... "Ready to take a lead in muggle torture?" Was it for the muggles or for the torturing? Both, I decided. Father didn't like Muggles, and he would certainly be willing to inflict any displeasure...Aunt Bella was commended, now she is out of Azkaban she shall be treated highly beyond others... My relatives all seem to be the best Death Eaters, in that case.

So, one day, I must be one of them, right?

DLM

* * *

_A/N: A very short chapter, but I wanted to give you one soon, so here you are, then. _

_To the reviewers:_

_mjmusiclover: No, not off topic, because the socks you chose have been worn once by Harry and the socks you denied were ne'er worn by any passing over Dobby. And that occasion on which Harry was at the Yule Ball, he wore the socks you chose. So off topic, no. Tangent, yes. Are those two things the same, perhaps._

_Lovealwayshopes: The parallelism was my way of showing that there are two sides to everything. Yeah, I know, the Order is the "good side" and the DE is the "cookie side," but the children are all just caught up in the whole mess. It's like how Calypso was imprisoned in the paradise Ogygia for helping her father, Atlas, in the God-Titan War. It wasn't a real question of good and evil for her. It was for her family, the Titans. Oof, when was the last time I've heard the word "coolio"? Too long, I suppose. As for snoggers in the rain? Hm... The rain is JKR's actually. Maybe it's romantic because it's like: "yo, we don't care what the weather says, I luv ya anyways!" Or because in the midst of all bad things, there can be something as pure as love. (I'm not saying that Draco&Pansy=LOVE, because I'm trying to prove that wrong) Like, remember Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End? (SPOILER ALERT) The maelstrom scene where there's all of this crazy fighting of the good guys, the undead, and the soldiers? And then how Elizabeth and Will are fighting at the same time as they're getting married? And they're trying to say their vows while they kill bad guys? And then they kiss all dramatically? Remember that??? (SPOILER OVER) Well if you haven't seen the movie my point is wasted, but the point is that that was UBER ROMANTIC because even while all of this chaos was winding around them, they still have time to love eachother! Yay! *Sighs resound around the theatre, and guys, if existent, roll their eyes* Real life? Um... In Harry's words, wet. But probably that wouldn't change the kiss too much. Okay, REAL LIFE ANECDOTE TIME! Once, I had just gotten off of this intense roller-coaster, and we were looking at those shots fro the cameras of us while they were going. One couple was shown snogging eachother, and it seemed like an absolutely amazing and insane idea. Amidst all that shaking and confused organs, tongue-wrestling as well? Wow. Crazy. But it looked pretty romantic. Okay, very long response at an end._

_By the way, my review responses seem to somewhat correspond with the length of the review. So big reviews=estatic-loony=bigresponses. smallreviews=pleasedloony=smallresponses._

_ANY REVIEW=HAPPYLOONY=FASTERUPDATES._

_So, I implore you to click the fantastic and widely coveted button. Thanks.  
_


	36. V: Umbridge Upgrades

_Disclaimer: Hello?... Who is this?... What? You're looking for the person who wrote Harry Potter?... There's no one by that description here, sorry, you must have dialed the wrong number. I don't even own the rights! ...It's okay, everyone makes mistakes... Take care now... Bye._

_Another Disclaimer: Just because I said bye does not mean you should hang up- er, leave this fanfiction. Keep reading.  
_

* * *

March 8, 1996

Dear Journal,

Professor Umbridge has upgraded her weapons. She has deemed it fitting, at the present time, to dismiss the Divination Professor from Hogwarts.

I'm not sure what she's got against the woman. I mean, just because her fashion sense is a little out of it (did she discover that it would be the style of tomorrow?), Professor Umbridge, what with her fluffy pink cardigan and revolting bow, has no business in criticizing clothes. Then again, would she care where her business really belongs? No, I guess not.

Well, perhaps the Divination teacher informed her that in the very near future, the wizarding public would discover that the Dark Lord really is coming back.

Whatever the case, there was a very noisy confrontation on this peaceful Monday evening between a sobbing and SCREAMing Professor Tree-lawn (or something or other) and a smug Professor Toad.

Professor Toad chased Tree-lawn down a staircase, shoving down the trunks behind her. The pitiless Professor triumphantly said in her strangely sweet voice (like that fools anyone for a moment), "The Hogwarts High Inquisitor is commanding you leave. Promptly comply with these orders, to avoid worse consequences."

At this point, Professor Snape joined the growing crowd, followed closely by Potter. Now, why they would both be emerging from the Slytherin Head of House's office at the same time is anyone's guess, though for the sake of the thoroughly disturbing discussion that may arise as a result, I have firmly decided to not present this query to anyone. Not even to myself.

"NO!" her shrieks reminded me faintly of Weasel's, so long ago, when Sirius Black appeared above him. (About that- did you know the Ministry is blaming the breakout on him? I'm actually starting to think that he isn't a Death Eater, just because the Ministry is usually wrong about everything...) "This cannot be happening..." the distraught woman kept repeating, as if saying it would make it true.

"Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?" the toadlike devil would have probably cackled if her voice wasn't so soft. Look who's talking! This person can't even tell that the Dark Lord returned _last year_!

"You c-can't! You can't sack me!" Despite her admirable persistence, it's still not working. "I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is my h-home!

"It _was _your home until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal," Oh, yes, Professor Tree-lawn's show would have been endlessly successful if only her opposition was not so utterly dispassionate. "Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us." Like that's gonna work.

Of all the people in the world to comfort her, or even just in Hogwarts, her practically archenemy, Professor McGonagall, rushes into the scene and consolingly pats her back, offering a much needed handkerchief.

And that point, Professor Umbridge is schooled. By the headmaster. Yes, I just said schooled. I know it's American slang. It just seemed to so perfectly fit this situation.

He bursts through the doors and quotes her decrees right back to her. Basically, Professor Tree-lawn does not have to leave Hogwarts, she just can't teach, and a centaur will be taking over her classes because the Headmaster still has first pick for the teachers.

PU=FUMING. A very successful formula, methinks. Woah, Professor Vector is rubbing off on me.

Whatever happens with this Professor Umbridge, I try not to think of it as 'good' or 'bad,' but as merely entertaining.

For there are more important things to concern oneself with,

DLM

* * *

April 5, 1996

Dear Journal,

Although I haven't especially gone out of my way to side with Professor Umbridge, she certainly considers me on her side. Perhaps it's our mutual disdain for Potter.

So when she appealed to me, her toad-like face both astonished and gleeful on this Monday evening (hm, does not match my equation in the last entry), to catch and incriminate Potter, I was unhesitating in my action. I jumped up, grabbing Pansy with me. Milly's concentrated expression twitched as she stared unseeingly into her book, but I pretended not to notice either her obviously disapproving (or at least non-supportive) countenance or the title of her book (all of which I have deemed unsuitable and too muggle for mere consideration OF COURSE), _The Fellowship of the Ring_.

Milly has been distant ever since that long ago fallout of ours at the beginning of the year, but I don't care. Seriously. I'm better off without her muggle-rubbish. _Really_.

Anyway, she said, "No, no, it shall occur in the evening. I shall detail you then." She obviously trusts me very much. Strange, that. She would trust a Slytherin. I could have easily ruined her plans at that moment by scurrying along to Potter and telling him.

But I didn't.

Duh.

Yeah, so Pansy and I headed down to the kitchens to celebrate (a chance to thwart Potter?). We enjoyed much food and drink (massive amounts of Butterbeer), and became rather bubbly and carefree. We soon left the kitchens in slight giggling spurts, but managed to compose ourselves into some proper sneers by the time we encountered anyone.

By the time that Umbridge turned up for a second time, we were perfectly prepared to cause our share of misery. When we arrived to spot of ambush, we found that we had been betrayed. However that had happened, the fact was that there were students streaming in all directions, casually and happily. There was a slightly open door beckoning, catching my Seeking eye, but my focus was on the people.

They were scattered everywhere and did not seem to have any particular relationship. They were all of different houses and did not have an air of knowing each other at all.

But still, underneath their careful exterior, they seemed very disheveled, they were all in some process of stowing away their wands, and they walked/jogged a bit faster than could be assumed to be natural. I had never known a corridor to be so crowded, nor so crowded and yet so Slytherin-less.

Quickly taking all of that in, I swiftly stepped behind a huge, ugly vase shaped like a dragon (ugh, the irony...), and spied Potter running in this direction, from the slightly open door. Muttering a useful spell from those books that Father had given me, I leaped out from hiding, crowing with laughter. "Trip Jinx, Potter! Hey, Professor - PROFESSOR! I've got one!" After attracting the attention of Professor Umbridge and company, I allowed myself a smirk.

Toad was marvelously satisfied, rewarding me fifty points and referring to me directly as Draco (like Father, like son... Remember the Dark Lord saying "Lucius" and all? Even though I don't particularly like toad-face, this made me feel proud)

Pansy and I both checked the bathrooms (our respective receptacles, of course) to no avail. Then Pansy had one of those strokes of malicious genius that reminded me why she was my girlfriend -apart from kissing and morale-boosting and whatnot. She flung the slightly ajar door open and dashed inside.

I scanned the crowd for reason to arrest, but could not particularly single out anyone. They had already merged with the regular students, so it was quite difficult to distinguish between and I decided to give up for the evening and return to the dormitory.

Pansy must have found something good to be taking so long.

I expect Professor Umbridge is paying her lavish praise (Pansy's favorite kind) at the moment,

DLM

* * *

April 6, 1996

Dear Journal,

A made-up position very much deserves a made-up squad to serve the made-up position.

Isn't that one of the simplest facts of life? One of those ancient proverbs? ...No? Oh well, it seems to be concrete in Professor Umbridge's book.

So, _anyways_, she has declared all Slytherin fifth, sixth, and seventh years that wish to join part of her specially selected 'Inquisitorial Squad.' These students can dock points from all students and houses, use prefect bathrooms, and need to do her bidding whenever she demands.

For everyone's different reasons, we made our individual decisions. Many Slytherins were wary of the "demand" portion of the contract, such as Teddy and Daphne. Others were not too keen to publicly side with Prof. Umbridge's reign, like Daphne and Blaise. As for the rest of us, we considered the benefits and joined.

I'm already making good with these benefits; I docked thirty points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for things like untucked shirts in and being a Mudblood and etc. from Potter and company. Basically just those things you just wish teachers would take care of.

Pansy, another Squad Snake, is too busy cultivating vines and leaves about the Headmaster's flight. Pumpkin heads and stunned Ministers, and of course Potter _must_ be involved.

There is the suspicious absence of Montague, which is rather worrying to the prospects of the Slytherin Quidditch team if anything...

Otherwise, no worries,

DLM

* * *

April 7, 1996

Dear Journal,

It is not often that I have found it necessary to describe to you my trips to the loo.

Plus, journal barf is not an ideal uniform cleaner.

But today is the day that I have decided to introduce you to this wonderful ritual that I follow a few times daily (if lucky...).

Even the introduction to the event sounds disgusting. Alas, I must begin, and it is your sad burden to remember it for me. One day (probably tomorrow) I'll look back and laugh. But today, I must settle for being simply hysterical.

To begin, I was in the library when I decided to pay a visit to the toilets. My sudden desire was a bit too urgent to go all the way to the marvelous but far away prefect bathrooms. I went inside, found a seemingly unoccupied stall, and pushed open the door.

The sight that met my eyes as they peered into the bowl was as disturbing as it was utterly unexpected.

No, someone hadn't forgot to flush. In fact, I hope they hadn't tried to.

In the bowl was our Quidditch captain, covered in water and things I do not wish to describe. I immediately ran for the High Inquisitor, who sent me for Professor Snape (by now, I am out of the bathroom).

So I discovered why Professor Snape and Potty spend evenings together, and it's not illicit relations with each other (Ohhhhh thank GOD). It may not sound quite as good to Pansy, but I was extremely relieved to be able to tell you that Potter has _Remedial Potions_ (seriously? I didn't even know that existed!) with him and not... other stuff.

Then I witnessed as Snape performed numerous spells to restore Captain Montague to a decent hygenic level (some of them looked very painful). And _then_ he returned to the common room as he painstaking recalled detail by detail his heroic adventures in the Vanishing Cabinet (broken since 1992) and random snippets from Borgin and Burkes, as he kept switching from place to place. Odd, isn't it, that he can travel to and from Hogwarts by acts of malicious pranksters while the greatest wizards of our time have yet to accomplish such a deed?

And now... I _really_ have to go,

DLM

* * *

_A/N: Bubbly and carefree=drunk. So that Dobby can overhear them. It was just butterbeer, but in massive amounts..._

_Sorry it's been a whole week since my last update! I misplaced my big blue book (a.k.a. OP), which hindered me slightly. Unfortunately, this once-a-week updating will most likely continue, as summer is gone (sobs) and in any case it's unhealthy to spend all day in front of a computer screen._

_So, it was found yesterday, which was why I was able to update today. See, after 48 hours of searching and re-searching, I asked my friend to help me look. He found it in two seconds. It was very pathetic on my part._

_But it was found! I can write again! Yay!_

_Oh yeah, and I had an urge to date one of my papers as 1996. Yeah, so, it's probably a good thing I'm so delayed with this._

_On a final note, a good friend from UK told me that this did not sound British. Remotely. So I gave up on trying at all to develop some kind of accent and used the definitely American slang "schooled." I hope you guys don't mind._

_Speaking of you guys, a few that I've heard from:  
_

_Lovealwayshopes: Aw, I'm glad you feel for Draco so much. I doubt he would be that cool. He's pretty cruel to many, and likes to keep only a few close. He's selfish, and takes out his insecurity on others, especially Neville Longbottom. He hates thinking that others are better than him. What will it take for me to convince you people that he's a jerk? *shakes head sadly* maybe I'm doing a bad job, or a good job, or everyone is just reading way too much OOC fanfiction. But the parents  
_

_HGTN: Yeah, he is a pretty cool character. I think of Blaise as the poser and of Teddy as the real thing, in a way._

_mjmusiclover: 29:23, and I always preferred the Gryffindor-y red with broomsticks, so I'll have that one and you can have yours.  
_

_Until next time, when Draco's bladder is hopefully empty. Oh yeah, and sorry about the equation. It would've worked, but NOMATTERWHAT+LOSTBOOK=DELAY. I have it now, so it should be working again.  
_


	37. V: Hate

_Disclaimer: This is my disclaimer. This is all there is to it.  
_

* * *

April 27, 1995

Dear Journal,

Today was the date for my careers advice meeting with Professor Snape. Father sent me an owl concerning the subject, but he mostly went on about bringing honor (and gold) to the family name, which didn't help much.

I was stumped. What I wanted to do? Did I really have a choice?

The same query I proposed to Prof. Snape, who quickly glanced at the door before responding. "Draco," he began, using the name that he rarely used at school, "There is always a choice." Basically he was saying that not all rich people can just make donations and live up to their honor and murder muggles.

He gestured to some papers strewn across his desk. "You display aptitude at Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts especially, so I suggest some fields like the maintenance industry or architecture... I'm sure you will find some kind of use for Defense Against the Dark Arts in whatever you endeavor...."

Was that a joke from the mouth of Severus Snape? Who woulda thought...

I gave some thought to architecture (maintenance? are you serious? would I be some kind of janitor?). It was prestigious enough, since my name would be everywhere I built (perhaps Quidditch stadiums), and seemed like enough of a money-maker to let me retire early.

"Well, you would also have to excel at _Transfiguration_," he said, his dislike nearly overdone to the point where some (the smarter denizens of Hogwarts, perhaps) might be suspicious, "so I would suggest working harder in Professor McGonagall's class. Potions would not be quite as important, though it is useful to be able to differentiate between different kinds of wood finish. So far, your work seems to be adequate enough, so continue as always and I believe you will be fine. Finally, it's god that you are taking Arithmancy, but you must improve your efforts in that enormously, for in architecture there are many arithmancic calculations that you should be able to solve with relative ease."

At this point, I interjected, "No Defense? No excitement?" The man raised his eyebrows at me, as if sizing me up.

"As I mentioned before, I believe that a contrasted occupation would best suit you. Your father, for instance, has a busy enough lifestyle, and his job technically requires no such 'excitement.'" His impatience was clear, and I knew that this conversation was positively gushing with enthusiasm compared to his usual standards, so I bade him well and left.

Not before pocketing an architecture pamphlet, that is,

DLM

* * *

Well.

They aren't Slytherin, but I have to admit, those guys are good.

Professor Umbridge is furious, of course, but at least she isn't forcing the Inquisitorial Squad to mop up her mess. Well, it is a swamp, so it might be hard to mop up a tree or something.

Though I personally doubt that she would appreciate it if a student could figure it out when she could not. That blow to her self-esteem would just be too much, on top of Fred and George's historic departure.

And so we know this:

_the rebellion begins_,

Not for the Slytherins, of course. Umbridge at school=points for snakes.

Still, a little excitement for O.W.L.s year is always moderately welcome,

DLM

* * *

May 30, 1996

Dear Journal,

They won.

Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup.

We were _so _close. We had a song. The Ravenclaws got first blood.

How could they have won?

DLM

* * *

June 15, 1996

Dear Journal,

O.W.L.s ARE HERE.

O.W.L.s. THE TESTS THAT SHALL REIGN SUPREME FOR A LIFETIME. Well, until N.E.W.T.s. But still!

Remember those? If you have missed me, book, or noticed the infrequency of my entries, that was my excuse. And now they're here.

I did not just squeak. That was Pansy. You know it was.

I already screwed up on my Charms O.W.L. I was surprised by the arrival of Potter during my Levitation Charm and automatically glared at him, fulfilling the requirements for such encounters. To my dismay, the wine glass that had been tranquilly floating in the air for more than ten minutes in figure-eight motions (any extra credit is welcome) made a dramatic and tragic plunge to the floor.

Does good job+extra work-small mistake=good job? I hope so, since Charms is, as Professor Snape put it, my stronghold, and to score any less than perfect would be rather disappointing.

All that there is to do is turn into a textbook for tomorrow's Transfiguration O.W.L. and I'll be set,

DLM

* * *

June 17, 1996

Dear Journal,

Halfway done with the first week of O.W.L.s! (That sounds more pathetic than I intended...)

Transfiguration was as okay as I could have managed, though it was terribly disappointing when my vanishing spell left some messy debris left over. It just looked depressing and disgusting, I can't imagine what that could do to my marks. It's a good thing that the Ministry has the good taste enough to appreciate the meaning of Malfoy.

Herbology... would it suffice to say that it stunk? I have never particularly preferred consorting with overgrown grass and Bubotuber pus and Mooncalf dung - well, such a subject simply ruins nice robes! And is just very unpleasant. I will go outside only as far as to play Quidditch, or perhaps get a tan (something, for a strange reason, that I have never succeeded in, so I have pretty much given up). And that's on a well trimmed and well kept field or beach.

DADA tomorrow, hope for good things, very very good things,

DLM

* * *

June 18, 1996

Dear Journal,

Defense Against the Dark Arts was pretty good, though it was surprising how well the Gryffindors were doing, seeing as their parents do not necessarily have the experience. I mean, the Weasleys might have known a thing or two because of all of that scrapping for survival they must go through, but others I didn't quite expect to turn out so well.

Oh well, with there bravery and whatever they must know something, I suppose.

But although I mentioned Gryffindor first, that was only by habit. The real surprise was how well those Hufflepuffs did! I mean, even Hannah Abbott, who notably transfigured something into a large flock of peacocks in her Transfiguration O.W.L, did reasonably well. Where, in the "softhearted weakling" description, did the Sorting Hat mention any cleverness... at all?

There is a certain mystery around this one. Especially with Dolores Umbridge teaching us, how is it that so many actually learned something?

Alas, there is no time -_no time! _for this drivel, for I must accompany Gregory to yet another study session for Arithmancy (it's next week, but how will I get anything through to him unless we start early?)

DLM, off to deal with his dunce companions

* * *

June 25, 1996

Dear Journal,

O.W.L.s finished! Once again, I note that the summer shall be absurdly short, as school shall impede into the peaceful days of July for a second and hopefully last time.

History of Magic went moderately well, though it's not like I, or anyone, will need it in the future unless they want to be the next Bathilda Bagshot or something. Though there was the slight disturbance of Potter screaming and writhing on the floor, I only needed to spare a moment from my work to wish him unwell.

My early studying, I think, helped me do justice on my Arithmancy exam. I do hope that last-minute cramming's notorious ineffectiveness will bend a rule for the dashing Draco Malfoy. Pretty please? (See, I'm well-bred enough to have manners!)

In Astronomy, there was a bit of a skirmish happening, which quite irritatingly interrupted my perusal of Uranus (do not be childish! It is not pronounced that way, and therefore cannot be interpreted that way, you immature book of mine), between Professor Hagrid and a bunch of random Ministry people plus Umbridge. Everyone was doing badly (other than the half-giant, of course) until Professor McGonagall ran in, indignantly yelling, and got four stunners in the chest, which gave her the amazing, posthumous first place prize for the dramatic battles' worst off. Well, she's not dead yet, and I suppose there is still hope, so I shouldn't say posthumous quite so soon.

Potions went as well as the classes go, except the examiner did not compliment my work as much as I have come to expect from Professor Snape. That worried me slightly. Does Prof. Snape mean it when he comments, or is it just because he is such a close friend of ours? No, no, that's a silly notion. I have always been apt at Potions; this examiner just has... sore throat, or something similar.

That was terribly out of order, but I am tired, I have just finished my exams, so you cannot blame me whatsoever, got it?

DLM

* * *

June 29, 1996

Dear Journal,

Potter has landed Father in Azkaban.

Father is in Azkaban.

And its Potter's fault.

I hate him,

DLM

(P.S. just because I've realized that the previous entry is shamefully scant of information, so let me go over everything else that the Prophet has revealed: Fudge has admitted that the Dark Lord has returned, Sirius Black is dead and innocent (that explains it!) and Potter has done something ridiculously heroic again, including but not limited to the incarceration of Father, Aunt Bella, and several other family friends.)

* * *

_A/N: I know, you guys have been waiting way too long for this small chapter, but I thought it wraps up the year pretty nicely. I know, crazy how he's not even mentioning King's Cross or anything, right? Everything else that immediately follows just seems to melt into insignificance to this last, short, and passionate entry._

_And did you notice that I've simply "laid it on with a thick trowel" on the prejudice? He needs to reflect his family's views, and I feel that I've forgotten that in earlier chapters. (Recognize that quote? Honorable mention for anyone who does and reports it in a review) I've also been revamping the fanfic. I've added the presence of Kreacher over Christmas and tweaked a few scenes, but the basic plot remains the same, so don't worry about skipping back unless you really want to and are bored because I'm not updating every day anymore.  
_

_So in the next chapter, I shall pick up the thread with a very special event that urges Draco to pick up his quill once again. To my reviewers, who hopefully haven't abandoned me:_

_mjmusiclover: fine, but you're doing the knitting. :P_

_Lovealwayshopes: Sorry about the Snape-Harry suspicions; even Draco was disturbed! Luckily, that cleared itself up very quickly. Time to try to convince you that Draco's kind of good, too. If you look under that heavy, lets say make-up, of prejudice and pride (ooh, pride and prejudice), a scared, insecure boy emerges. That doesn't excuse him. But he's human, isn't he? And human is quite good enough to sympathize with. Hopefully you'll be getting a lot of that in the next chapters.  
_

_Let me make this very clear. I do not care if you can't give reasonable feedback. A simple ":)" or ":(" will suffice. So please, do review. Even if it's one word, I will appreciate it, and I will respond. If it's an insightful review, I will love it, but for any review, any shape or form of review, I will appreciate it, and I will respond. I know I said that twice. That was for emphasis. If you want, you can repeat yourself unnecessarily in your review. You can betray basic grammar rules. It might have one annoyed me, but now I have found it does not pay to be picky. When you take the time, it shows me that you appreciate my work on this fanfic._

_Okay, I know, I know, I'm an impatient brat, it's only been 19 hours, etc. etc.... But here is another reminder. RevIEW IF yOu KNoW what'S GoOD FOr yoU. Well, not really, it's not like I'm going to punish you or anything. I'm not the kind of writer who withholds chapters for reviews or whatever. But it's just a wonderful, thoughtful thing to do. 10% of my readers, so far, have reviewed this little chapter. Increase the percentage! You can add an 8% just by clicking the botón verde__! Woooooooooooooooo!  
_


	38. VI: Pains and Plans

_If you've read this far, hopefully you've gathered that I'm not trying to claim Harry Potter as my own._

* * *

July 6, 1996

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord is displeased with Father, and when Father escapes from Azkaban, he will have to suffer His wrath. Apparently, both Father's failure and his absence are most inconveniencing to Him.

Both birds can be killed, then, with one stone. Killed in a very literal sort of way, as a matter of fact.

Absences can be solved with replacements. There is one Malfoy heir, ready to inherit not only the name, not only the residence, but the honor of serving the Dark Lord where his father has failed.

I will prove myself to be my own, finally. After so many years, the words of that Mudblood ring in my ears- "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in..." Not my name or my gold or my family will let me shine. This is my turn. Finally, my turn, and no one will dare ever to pass it off as anything other than me.

My life begins midnight, July tenth,

DLM

* * *

July 10, 1996

Dear Journal,

It hurt.

A lot.

I sincerely doubt that Muggle recreational tattoos are quite so torturous.

Aunt Bella (why has she been released but not Father?) has been teaching me Occlumency this summer, to prepare me for being a Death Eater among so many blood traitors, and it came easier than I expected. I tried best to employ it against the Dark Lord, but, to my defense, no one had ever described him to me and the utter... uniqueness, so fitting to his superior nature, of his appearance unsettled my unprepared eyes.

The Initiation Ceremony began.

The Dark Lord gently brushed his long wand down the light, aristocratic skin of my left forearm. It began to burn, and I shielded my pain. I felt the red eyes smile as he ran the yew across again, the burn increasing tenfold. I could feel the skin turning upon itself and becoming tender, inflamed.

Then the real pain began. He dug the end of his wand into the arm, several inches, it felt like, tearing mercilessly at the outraged flesh. Tears may have arrived at the edge of my eyes, as I used all of my concentration to keep from emitting the sounds of pain I so wanted to. He slowly gouged the shape of the Mark, seeming to revel in the pain he was causing, the blood vessels that wanted to break. Animal groans escaped my lips as he went. When he was finally done, his wand tip ignited, and I felt like the mark he had made was dying, the very skin becoming mottled and black.

I fell to my knees, crashing to the floor, and, keeling forward, managed to brush my lips on the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. I shakily found the strength to stand, my arm limply hanging and my head still bowed. Whether to hide my wet face or to show reverence I do not remember.

The rest of the ceremony passed as a blur, nothing compared to the cruel clarity of those three excruciating minutes.

It wasn't until Mother and I reached the safe confines of Malfoy Manor that I was allowed to pass out. I awoke eight hours later, to see Mother sitting anxiously over me. Naively believing it had all been some terrible nightmare, I started to try to raise my left arm to push off the covers. To my utmost horror, unexpected pain flew up my arm and into my brain.

Now, the pain has dulled. It is not gone, but it is bearable. I tried to ask Mother when it would subside, but she would not meet my eyes, her unblemished arms shakily brushing her golden hair.

Did Father have to suffer this? Does he, now?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

July 13, 1996

Dear Journal,

O.W.L.s results arrived, most ironically, by owl. So here they are, as follows:

Astronomy: E

Arithmancy: E

Care of Magical Creatures: D

Charms: E

Defense Against the Dark Arts: O

Herbology: P

History of Magic: A

Potions: E

Transfiguration: E.

I cannot believe I did not get an O for Charms or Potions. I have always proven myself to be excellent at those things, and now... Oh well, what do O.W.L.s matter anyway, I'll pass the N.E.W.T.s and no one will ever remember them...

Draco Malfoy

* * *

July 31, 1996

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord has given me my first assignment.

I will prove myself through this act, like a rite of passage beyond the Dark Mark (on that note, I must say that either it does not hurt as much, or I'm used to it. Whatever the case, it's a bit of a relief).

He has given me the one task that no one, not even He Himself, has ever completed - a height never achieved. Daunting, true, but that He has entrusted such a task to me fills me in a way more than the embraces of my parents or merchandise from stores.

I must kill Albus Dumbledore.

Means is not an issue. It's an inside job that only I can complete, and complete I certainly shall.

The Dark Lord will forgive us, we are saved, and I, the Malfoys in all, will be escalated into a position yet higher than ever once was, or Snape, the foul greasy fellow who for some reason He places above all others (that will change).

It is not murder... It cannot be murder, for if I do it, how could it be?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

August 1, 1996

Dear Journal,

Finally, my dear book, you are worth something.

I have been contemplating, turning my mind inside out, to find some kind of possible way to actually... er... perform the task I have been set. Surely I will need something, anything, that the Dark Lord does not have or know -otherwise, wouldn't he just do it himself?

I found it! My plan. To distract Dumbledore so he can die. What if I got Death Eaters into Hogwarts?

Impossible, right?

But no! In this book, I have found the answer: "And then [Montague] returned to the common room as he painstaking recalled detail by detail his heroic adventures in the Vanishing Cabinet (broken since 1992) and random snippets from Borgin and Burkes, as he kept switching from place to place. Odd, isn't it, that he can travel to and from Hogwarts by acts of malicious pranksters while the greatest wizards of our time have yet to accomplish such a deed?"

This bit of genius, if it works, when it works, will surely establish myself among the ranks.

Additionally, I have already begun to scheme how to accomplish this. First, I must mend the Vanishing Cabinet, for having Death Eaters trapped in toilets will certainly not do at all. This should not be hard, for I will be going to Diagon and Knockturn Alley on Saturday and can use that opportunity to find Borgin and _persuade_ him to tell me how to fix it (he'll know, for he does have the other one. I've seen it, I'm sure of it).

It's a strange feeling to contemplate these things that are so altering my life,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

August 3, 1996

Dear Journal,

I had a close call at Madam Malkin's, in more than one way. For one thing, she kept trying to fix the left arm of the robe I was trying on. As you know, it is still a bit throbbing and has a direct connection to the Dark Lord, so I certainly do not want to inadvertently disturb him. And, of course, it's a bit of a giveaway for being a Death Eater.

Then, of course, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Mudblood Granger had to arrive. Mother prudently led me out of the shop soon after; I may have initially wanted violence, but I had more important work to do that would result in a much more satisfying payback.

I shook her off at Twilfitt and Tattings with much difficulty, but finally she started to negotiate the price and I was able to slip away to Borgin and Burke's.

The threat of the Mark worked better than even I could anticipate. Apparently he doesn't know how the Malfoy family has fallen (temporarily). He still has the other Cabinet, thank goodness (ironic word choice), and I finally managed to secure his help. I suppose I shall have to send notes he shall have to respond by owl, for he needs to examine the thing to fix it, he claims. Well, my observations will be quite satisfactory, for they're the best he'll get.

Finally, I visited that shop of the Weasley twins. I was sure to avoid the twins themselves, but the helper Verity was fine enough, and I just bought some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder before dashing out of the shop. Perhaps it will come in handy -who knows?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

September 1, 1996

Dear Journal,

I'll have to begin my work tomorrow. The anticipation is almost frightening.

I was able to get a small part of revenge on Potter. Today, I didn't bother seeking him out (for the first time in five years! Can you believe it?). Instead, I made it clear to my fellow Slytherins that I was clearly superior for my tasks for the Dark Lord.

It didn't help, though, that Blaise was invited to a lunch for "well-connected people" and Slughorn hadn't even bothered to invite me! The Malfoy's are more well-connected than any. I mentioned this, and Blaise replied "I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters." Well, he's just some stupid teacher, just like I told Blaise.

As I continued to lay hints of my importance to the Dark Lord, Blaise, of course, the bastard, tried to knock me down, but I still captured the awe of Pansy, Vince, and Gregory.

But that's not the important part. I had glanced, earlier, a flash of something that told my instincts that _someone, concealed, was there._ And then there was a gasp at one point, confirming my suspicions. After the rest of the group left, I closed the blinds and pretended to look for something in my trunk. I whipped my wand out and "_Petrificus Totalus,"_ Potter was sprawled on the floor.

In my boasting, I hadn't really let anything slip, so I didn't "_Obliviate_" him, but there was no chance I would let this opportunity to waste. I grinned at my triumph, and crushed his nose under my boot. "That's from my father," I spat, the hot joy of revenge seeping through me. I covered him with his invisibility cloak and left. No Potter at Hogwarts. A perfect beginning to a year full of opportunity.

Somehow, Potter made his way to Hogwarts, very late and covered in blood, but that does not dampen my spirits too much. I have already spread the story as far as I can, and Pansy's vines will hopefully reach out far. I'm not quite sure if that will work too much against him, but I will still have more revenge.

Meanwhile, though, just the warmth of his blood was so satisfying,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: I have never been forced to experience such excruciating pain as I described above, so it is from my imagination that I pried such grisly imagery. I hope that that helps you sympathize with not only Draco, but with poor Severus Snape. On that note, I faintly recall a fanfiction, the Gilded Cage, that had an idea that I very much agree with: Snape's a Potions Master, and the 'master' that he's betraying has a giant evil snake, so DUH he carried snake venom on his person!_

_Maybe I just want him to be alive, but the sense of that argument is overwhelming, don't you think? Oh yeah, and I hope you find that Draco's results make sense. Did you notice he has the same amount of E's, A's, O's, and D's as Harry? Cool, right?_

_Four reviews? Is this breaking a record? Wow, guys, keep it up:  
_

_mjmusiclover: Your enthusiasm is unwavering as ever.  
_

_Lovealwayshopes: Arrogant? Definitely. To the last sentence of yours: to think, just like Draco, years and years ago, Albus Dumbledore was doing the same thing... Hating muggles for incarcerating his father.  
_

_hollyivy7: As I have said before, it will probably be a long time before you read these words, so I have already PM'd you my thoughts. For the sake of my 'tradition' of personally addressing all reviews, I will paste my response here:_ _yes, Pansy is interesting in fanfictions, given that what we know from JKR is that she is (a) stupid (b) clingy (c) pug-faced and shrill, though that could be distortion from Gryffindors (d) concerned with superficial things, and (e) quite mean to Gryffindors. That is so much and yet so little, so fanfiction writers love to expand upon that (A lot of people make her out as, well, very promiscuous, but I have decided on a different idea of those characteristics, though both work....)._

_XSkylarMalfoyX: As you have finished chapter one, it shall probably be quite a while before you read these words, so I'll tell you that this is a response to your review on 10-04-09 to Chapter One. Thank you for saying that. It is very encouraging and nice to hear from a fellow fanfiction writer.  
_


	39. VI: Disappointments

_Disclaimer: The 39th time is the charm, they say... Or do they? o.O_

_

* * *

_September 2, 1996

Dear Journal,

Pansy is so clingy. To think I wasted the summer hoping for her embraces, but in person she's just getting on my nerves. Yesterday I let her play with my hair, and now she expects us to get engaged tomorrow or something!

But that's not the worst bit. Pansy's always been a bit funny like that. No. She is always pestering me about my job for the Dark Lord. "Oh, Draco, you're so powerful, to work under the Dark Lord, to be deserving of such respect." "You'll show those Mudblood scum. After all, aren't you the Dark Lord's #2?" "Don't worry so much, Draco, you can do it! You can do anything."

I hate it. What am I supposed to do, yell at her ignorant optimism, "SHUT UP!" "NO, it's NOT going DANDY, okay?!" "*SEIZURE IN WHICH I KILL SNAPE*" Hmph, she'll probably dump me on the spot.

And oh yeah, Snape. _Him_. I haven't the least idea why the Dark Lord keeps him so close, anyway. And why, why has he left potions? The replacement that Dumbledore has provided is (and what else can you expect from Dumbledore, really) completely substandard, does not appreciate talent, sucks up to _Potter_ like everybody else, and has no idea of propriety. And he used to be Head of Slytherin? Ha! And I'm a Hufflepuff.

This is particularly annoying, because at the beginning of the class Professor Slughorn seemed to have such potential, even offering a golden bottle at the end of class, calling it "liquid luck." Well, to save my family from the throes of shame and probably horrible torture, a little luck is just what I need, right? So you'd expect a teacher to give such a deserving person of the prize, but _nooo_, he gives it to Potter! Why Potter? Of all the Slytherins, the pureblood Slytherins, the Draco Malfoy sitting on Table 3, 3rd from the right, why would you choose _Potter_? Potter's never been good at potions. He even took Remedial last year!

I also spoiled my new Twilfitt and Tattings robes with my potion, to my great displeasure. I would never screw up like this in _Snape_'s class. Milly likes to say "Attitude reflects leadership," though I don't know why as I don't associate with that dirty half-blood anymore. But I feel that that best illustrates the truth of this horrible teaching appointment. I'm not even in Herbology anymore, and my clothes still reek. Ugh. The only good thing that came out of the lesson was that I was able to nick some Polyjuice Potion. In shifty business such as I am involved in, disguises will always be useful.

Though I'm at quite a loss, anyway, at how to proceed with my project. So many unexpected complications are arising. Where _is_ the cabinet, anyway? Why hasn't Eric returned from that owl I sent to Father about O.W.L. results?

The second is actually quite disturbing. I do not want to imagine what may happen to an Eagle Owl on his way to Azkaban, or at it. It was foolish, really, to send an O.W.L. at all.

Foolish! That's the word for it! Snape, Slughorn, Dumbledore, Potter, foolish! And I, utterly so. Losing my owl. Not even thinking how to find the cabinet. Not thinking at all. Just getting ahead of myself as usual, being arrogant and preoccupied with silly things like O.W.L.s when my family is at stake, Father is in Azkaban, and I have the ability to very much please or horribly anger my Master.

Back to Professor Snape... he isn't gone, though. Oh, no. He wouldn't leave his precious job, the one that sits him next to the Dark Lord. But he didn't anticipate that I'd be able to have eyes inside Hogwarts, too, now did he?

Thank goodness I might not even be at Hogwarts next year,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

September 3, 1996

Dear Journal,

No, my problems with Snape, Bumble, Pansy, and Slughorn have not been solved. They are worse, if anything. I can't even confide in my girlfriend, who I know could whip up a solution to my problems in an instant, with her wily lines of communication. But you don't tell secrets to Pansy, that's one thing you learn after nearly two years 'closer than friends.'

Racking my brains is not helping, so I burn time like this,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

September 14, 1996

Dear Journal,

An arrest has been made by the Ministry of Magic. Pathetic, really. Truly pitiful. They've put Stan Shunpike behind bars, an obvious non-Death Eater (and I would know, wouldn't I). How do they expect to win this war if they imprison their own kind? Laughable.

Blaise is going to that stupid "Slug Club" thing. The closest he'll ever be to popular, that's for sure. He was so excited, strutting out of the common room, practically. Well, _I_ have got more important business to take care of tonight; I shall be visiting the kitchens. I expect to have little trouble demanding Dobby for a solution to my problems. House elves are unendingly resourceful when obeying their masters.

Otherwise, they are useless, but I'm not very bothered by that.

For my purposes, of course, no one will lack a master.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

September 21, 1996

Dear Journal,

The Quidditch tryouts were rubbishy today. I haven't practiced with my Nimbus Two Thousand and One at all since last year, and there's no guaranteed spot because Father's incarcerated. Why must this inconvenience occur now? Today?

Especially since Urquhart had been notified that the Gryffindor team, chosen last weekend, is apparently very good.

Dobby was harder to use than I anticipated. My anticipations, I am noticing, seem to be more inaccurate as of late. It's so frustrating! This is my shot, and now there's a danger of me bungling it up with my own ineptitude! (Classes are going badly, by the way)

It went like this with the impertinent elf:

"Dobby, I order you to tell me where I can work on a secret project."

"In- No! Dobby will not tell Mister Malfoy, no, no, Mister Malfoy is bad lot, will hurt Harry Potter!"

Aghast at that Dobby had said 'Mister' and not 'Master,' I scolded, "Don't speak to your Master that way!"

"You are not my Master anymore!" and with a last frightened glance at me with those large, tennis-ball eyes, it whisked around the corner and was no where to be found.

The other elves, however, were eager to be of service and quickly busied themselves in preparing a fifty pound meal for me. "Hey, you!" I called, snapping my fingers at one. "What's a good place to hide things?" It wasn't very eloquently worded, but I deemed it unnecessary to show off in front of such already devoted servants.

The elf shuffled forward nervously. "Master Dumbledore does not like house elves to talk of the room, Young Master Malfoy. He has forbid us to speak of it," it mumbled.

Dumbledore's authority will be gone soon enough, I thought grimly, letting the nervous thing scuttle away with only a stern nod of reproach. But what was I to do now? Dumbledore's keeping me from figuring out how to kill him; what a fruitless cycle! I mulled over the elf's shy denial to my request, frustrated that it was all I had to go on. Then my mind struck gold: the room, he said. It was a hint. A disguised, unintended hint.

So all there is to do is _find that room_,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: "Attitude reflects leadership" is from the movie, _Remember the Titans_, and a beautifully mud-soaked scene. Yo, did you guys notice that Draco has changed his signature again? I like to mark significance in his life with that; I'm planning one last alteration, a while away.. _

_Keep reviewing, kids:  
_

_mjmusiclover: Um, no, it's not exactly the same. The grades are different in Astronomy, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Herbology, and History of Magic. They're only the same in Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration. Sometimes I wonder whether you read the chapter before you review. At quick glance, it does seem the same because the amounts are the same (like any good antagonist), but I assure you as different as their personalities are, Draco and Harry's schoolwork also differ._

_XSkylarMalfoyX: Once again, you're wonderfully sweet. And you read very fast (or just a lot). I'm continuing, worry not!_

_Of Crimson Moonlight: As I've said earlier, you probably won't read this in a while, so let me remind you that this is your second review to this tale, on 10-19-2009. Sadly, Milly is going to leave the diaries, and the books shall as well. She'll be coming back, though, wait for it... :D Fire in a Storm is absolutely fantastic and more people should read it, in my opinion. KEEP WRITING, I implore you!_

_Stay tuned, folks, for the next installment in THE DRACO DIARIES!  
_


	40. VI: Suggesting Moisture

_Disclaimer: Tinky-Winky, Lala, Po. I own the teletubbies as much as I own Harry Potter. Which is not at all. Though I do believe that their food is yummy.

* * *

_

September 23, 1996

Dear Journal,

I have been accepted as the Slytherin Seeker on a very odd condition. Captain Urquhart says he would be much obliged if I did not actually play, and asked, as polite as the Slytherin is physically able, I suppose, "I'll give you the title, but you can't play on my team, understand?" Well, I have more important things to be doing anyway, so if he doesn't want my considerable talent then he won't get it.

It is unclear as to whether this was intended to be a victory or a loss,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

September 27, 1996

Dear Journal,

The plan is finally making some progress. I have found within this journal once again the existence of an answer. Five months ago, I wrote an entry about catching Potter and his friends when they were having secret meetings inside a room. Well, this room does deserve some kind of inspection... Why, it might even be the answer to my problems.

I wish Eric would return; his absence is deeply unsettling,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 2, 1996

Dear Journal,

Of course. There it was, just waiting for me to discover it.

The Room of Requirement.

And not only that, but there was something inside that room other than shelter and protection. The Vanishing Cabinet.

My project can begin. I find it easier to contemplate without considering the end result. Of course I can say Avada Kedavra, what's that, six syllables and a flash of light? Still, it's nicer to think of it one step at a time...

First step: Reparo.

Drat, _that_ didn't work. How do you repair a magical object past reparo? D-ack it.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 3, 1996

Dear Journal,

Still on that first step! I wish there was a good way to check whether it's safe or not, but all I can think of is putting myself into it, which would be very very stupid. Dumber than my usual, you know?

Aunt Bella would _kill_ me if she died because I was transporting her to Hogwarts,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 5, 1996

Dear Journal,

How can the Dark Lord think that I have a chance if he hasn't even done it?

How?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 6, 1996

Dear Journal,

...Does he think that I have a chance?

Never mind that. Of course he believes that I have a chance. Somehow. He wouldn't send me on a task to fail.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 7, 1996

Dear Journal,

I'm going to owl Borgin now. Not about the Vanishing Cabinet; my observations are useless because broken magical objects look the same as broken nonmagical objects. With magical objects, something's broken internally that you can't see.

I'm beginning to lose hope with the Vanishing Cabinet. Just in case, I've got a new quick plan. If it works, I won't have anything to worry about! (Seems too good to be true, though...)

Hogsmeade visit is coming up. I can't go, though! Stupid McGonagall put me in detention for a few homework assignments. How dare she? Well, I'll show her.

But I've sent an owl to Madam Rosmerta. The envelope is curse-proof, which is useful when you consider what's inside...

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 8, 1996

Dear Journal,

I hope Rosmerta and Borgin have received their letters. That is vital to my plan, but there's no way for me to check because of _McGonagall_, that dog.

I'll know on Saturday, I suppose. No, Sunday, because of _McGonagall_. F-_ack_ her, I've been working so hard on this and maybe I missed, what, three essays, and now she's taking away valuable Cabinet time, meaning I'll have to miss more homework assignments and sleep...

Isn't my optimism astonishing?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 9, 1996

Dear Journal,

I've been getting about two hours of sleep a night. It's so hard for me to stay awake at all now. I actually fell asleep in Vector's class! (Not that I do very much in Arithmancy otherwise...) It's just my feverish, forced obsession. I don't even eat in the Great Hall anymore; my friends (especially _Pansy_) are pestering me about my appearance ("Draco, are you okay?" "You're looking sorta gray-ish" "You haven't been talking to me lately..." "Man, you belong in Madam Pomfrey's") and they don't accept my responses ("Of course, Teddy, you of all people should know that I'm _better_ than fine." "Shut up, Vince!" "Tch! Like we ever talked very much." "And you belong in one of Slughorn's parties") like they should.

Why do Slytherins have to be so nosy? Why can't they just let well enough alone??

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 10, 1996

Dear Journal,

Pansy cornered me today.

"Draco, we need to talk..."

It makes one shudder to think of all the things that follow _those_ words.

I quickly shoved her away. "NO, Pansy, I can't deal with this right now, okay? I'll be a good boyfriend or whatever later, but right now I've got very important work to do and you need to stop bothering me! I need to concentrate, da*n it!"

She stared at me, wide-eyed and stunned. As I brushed past her, I noticed with a growing horror that her eyes were glistening in that peculiar way that suggests moisture.

What have I done?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: By the way, did you notice, in Chapter 39, that Draco refers to house elves as 'it'?  
_

_mjmusiclover: That's okay. Actually, I think the rocks far outnumber the reviews. You are flattering as ever. I'm not sure I understand your question, though.  
_

_XSkylarMalfoyX: Thank you for saying that! Flawless is quite a complement, coming from a fellow writer. I'm also pleased that I'm getting Draco's characterization. Of course!_

_ScOrPiA pOiSoN: yays! to you too! Review more, please!_

_Please review, people!  
_


	41. VI: Unforgivable

_Disclaimer: _

_Dis= from Latin, not. _

_Claim= from Middle English, to take as the rightful owner. _

_Er= from English, one who._

_So let's put it together! Dis+Claim+Er= "not"+"take as the rightful owner"+"one who"= one who__ not take as the rightful owner. Therefore, I am one who does not take the Harry Potter series as the rightful owner._

_

* * *

_October 12, 1996

Dear Journal,

Detention today. I'll have to see if I can get some sleep during it.

My good looks are vanishing! Not like they make a difference anyway... Pansy hasn't talked to me for a while; I suppose she hasn't forgiven me yet.

Which is good, of course, because that's what I want.

...Sigh.

What I want is to get this over with... No.

_What I want_ is to not doubt myself,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 13, 1996

Dear Journal,

It's out.

I'm not a murderer.

Not yet.

But I am... unforgivable.

Does it feel any different?

My arm pains me.

But it always has, since I got the... you know.

It's not the only thing that hurts, either.

To be unforgivable...

The worst bit is that it's the same as I've always been,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 14, 1996

Dear Journal,

I do suppose it's my duty to tell you what's happened.

That's what Pansy would say.

But she isn't saying anything, is she?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 15, 1996

Dear Journal,

If I'm too weak to write it in my journal, then I really am a fool, unworthy of my own squalor. (A Malfoy? In squalor? The irony!)

Katie Bell is in the hospital wing, as a result of a cursed necklace that may have sucked her soul out because that was what it was meant to do except of course I had planned for it to kill someone else but instead it didn't get very far...

The beginning.

Because, of course, I can still make reasonable conversation, despite my introverted tendencies and lack of sleep.

I hate my life.

Anyways....

I sent an owl containing a unforgivable curse (Alastor Moody should never have shown us that, eh?) and an enchanted coin (I got _that_ idea from that secret meeting thing that the Gryffindors held last year) in it. I've been sending enchanted instructions since. Professor Snape should be proud of me; that's the most nonverbal method of them all! (Though I care nothing for _his_ pride).

The bewitched witch (ooh, I like the sound of _that_) carried out her orders and sent out yet _another_ unforgivable, which is really my unforgivable. Well. I'm in it deep now, eh? I haven't even done the deed, and I'm all set for two life terms in Azkaban.

To a random student, who was supposed to deliver it to Dumbledore.

Apparently, though, Unforgivables lose some of their power when channeled through paper and people. Katie Bell never made it to the castle. Instead she probably woke up from the spell or something and the curious idiot Gryffindor must have opened her parcel and touched that wretched necklace of Borgin's and the worthless girl half-died instead of the old coot whose time is overdue, and now I've got nothing again.

Well, except Madam Rosmerta.

But however intriguing that may be, I think of no way that owning a woman will aid me in my efforts.

I'll keep thinking...

Draco Malfoy

* * *

October 29, 1996

Dear Journal,

Captain Urquhart was telling the team -an entity which, in some strange corrupt way, includes me as well- that Gryffindor has had one of its worst practices ever and hope is high. Apparently they can't do anything without that Bell girl (the cursed one). If it were a fair world, Urquhart would let me play for my valiant involvement on that part, but _no_, it just doesn't work that way, does it?

If it were a fair world, Pansy would be talking to me again. I know I haven't apologized, but I can't, because I _do_ want her to f-acking shut her mouth for a few seconds and I'm not taking that back. I have no regrets.

Why did she have to take it so _personally_ though? It's been two weeks! She was glowing, practically, when she heard about Bell, and chirped it down everyone's throats (okay, that was a weird mental image) for hours. Everyone except me, that is.

I don't get it. I mean, of course, I would be annoyed if she had bothered me about it, but it's more annoying to have to extract the convoluted strands from secondary sources like Asteria Greengrass, who heard it from Daphne who heard it from Teddy who heard it from Blaise who actually heard it from Pansy.

How dare she? Blaise, of all people? With his snide comments to me about Slughorn, how dare she choose _him_ over _me_ to confide in? Provided, I know I probably would have snapped if she came to me, but she didn't have to choose _Blaise_...

F-ack it! I know this is all stupid. I'm stupid. I don't want her to talk to me, I do want her to talk to me, I don't, I do, I wish I knew...

Draco Malfoy

* * *

November 2, 1996

Dear Journal,

Well. The first Quidditch game of the season.

Usually I would be excited about this, but as I'M NOT PLAYING, I guess my excitement was doused.

I didn't bother watching us get creamed by the Gryffindorks (Suppose Urquharts having 2nd thoughts about his strategy, eh? I might forgive him, if he comes up to me and offers me the playing time I rightfully deserve.)

Instead, I worked more in the Room of Requirement. I'm at a complete loss of how to proceed. Hours of unceasing murmured spell, such as "confringo-deprimo-drought-incendio-flagrante," to appeal to the element of fire, or "aguamenti-gilliweed-wrackspurtsiphiei," to appeal to the element of water, "expulsoevanescodeltrius," to appeal to the element of destruction or eradication of bad things that are keeping the cabinet from working properly, or "erectoduroepiskeyreparo," to appeal to the most direct channel to repairing the cabinet. Usually the spells are much longer, because of all the curses I add in there, but those cannot be written down.

In summary, I've learned more about Arithmancy, the Dark Arts, and the general creation and combination of spells than I ever wanted to know, and if I understand an ounce of it I'll be much surprised. Frankly, I know nothing of this junk, and I wish dearly that I could just haul Borgin over here and get him to fix it. But if I could haul people to Hogwarts, then my problem would already be solved. Malfoys are made for... I don't know, fine cuisine testing or something. Not scrabbling on our knees, desperate, and helpless. I'm even tempted to just order a house-elf to fix it for me, but then it'll likely tell Dumbledore all about it.

I still wish there was some way to test whether it's fixed or not. I've tried shaking it, saying "revelio," knocking on the wood to create a hollow sound... but nothing doing. The results change predictably, but I don't know what they mean.

Racking one's brains isn't fun, especially when you suspect you have less in there than you thought,

Draco Malfoy

_

* * *

_

_A/N: OMG I've fallen in love with A Very Potter Musical. I just keep listening to it on youtube, over and over again.  
_

_Lovealwayshopes: I love to hear that I'm improving! I'm also really glad you caught the symbolism of swearing.  
_

_mjmusiclover: Aw, thank you for calling me sweet. Yeah, I just don't like typing out swearwords. Your socks are off again?! Your poor, cold feet.  
_

_XSkylarMalfoyX: Yeah, one of the few times you can feel sorry for a pampered, snotty, gossipy, shallow, dumb girl like Pansy, huh? Okay, I'm being a little rough; she's nice to the people she likes. But otherwise....  
_


	42. VI: Stealing Potter's edge

_Disclaimer: I am but an extension of She, our Creator. Every word I type is her word, and every plot point is her plot point. I am but a pawn in Her world who acts according to Her plans. Anything that anyone claims to be mine is always Hers._

_Praise the Lady! Amen._

…_J.K._

_(Rowling!) But you get thie gist.  
_

* * *

November 8, 1996

Dear Journal,

There are a lot of interesting things in that Room of Requirement. Wigs, tiaras, sculptures, birds, a cabinet, dust, and I are all some typical inhabitants of that place. Mysteries are present. But there are no answers.

There are no answers to Pansy. There are no answers to Dumbledore. There are no answers to this stupid bloody cabinet!

What is it? Am I determined to fail?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

November 15, 1996

Dear Journal,

I've got it! How to test the Cabinet, that is. You just have to transport things in it!

My pale, haggard, and generally unbecoming face will leave me. My problems will leave me. My death threats will leave me. And my family's shame will just leave.

So far, I thought: why not transport something small? The kitchens will have quite a bit of ammunition to transport to Borgin & Burkes.

Today, I began, seriously this time. I carefully placed an apple I'd nicked from the kitchens inside the cabinet, and securely shut the door. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened. Nothing f-acking happened, d-ack it!

Draco Malfoy

* * *

November 20, 1996

Dear Journal,

It's the oddest thing.

Something worked.

I had been furiously swearing at the cabinet, and I struck it in anger with the only thing I add –my wand. It made an odd, pure, clear note, like that of a glass of water.

Curiously, I nudged the apple in, and closed the door. And waited. And waited. And wa-

Wait a minute! It worked. The apple was gone! I grinned.

Success was not near; success was here!

Dumbledore shall die!

Draco Malfoy

* * *

November 21, 1996

Dear Journal,

Never mind. Didn't work.

Apparently, Borgin notices when his merchandise starts to shudder. And not only does he notice, he inspects. And what did he find? The apple, you may guess?

No. Not the apple. Instead of the apple, the green, unblemished sphere I set free into the universe from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was quite a different apple.

Juice cascaded down the steaming sides from a gaping wound. The opened flesh was supple smelled enticing, but it was as bruised as the skin was burnt.

He sent me the apple by owl, and I received it today. T'was a short note, but the brevity was not to be despised; on the contrary the conciseness and vagueness was much appreciated, as I do not eat at the Hall anymore. Teddy delivered the parcel, with only a raised eyebrow and a dubious glance and the half-asked question, "Does this happen to be…"

"Yes, it's mine," I snapped, snatching the traumatized fruit and hastily scribbled letter. I gave it a quick once-over and sighed in relief; the note would be indecipherable to any who read it except for me: _Master Malfoy, I found this apple in its current condition. It was in the merchandise you had shown such interest in. What importance this is surpasses me, but I would suppose that this was not the desired result, Your Humble and Loyal Servant, Borgin._

Teddy peered at me curiously. It was the first time in weeks that he'd seen me close-up. Perhaps he had thought that I couldn't hear, because he muttered blasphemously, "So that's how it is when you're in too deep…"

I raised my eyes in a flash to meet his, and my harsh grey ones held his in a deadlock for one tense moment. Unconcerned, he merely shrugged and let the door close softly behind him.

Hm

Draco Malfoy

* * *

December 19, 1996

Dear Journal,

The cabinet is unprogressive, as usual. If I thought abandoning my journal to devote myself entirely to the task at hand would solve it, I was mistaken.

All that has amounted by my absence is that instead of in my room in the spare moments when I'm sick of that dusty, claustrophobic room of junk, I am in the library, dozing off atop of library books meant to both help my schoolwork and clandestine activities. To think Professor Snape ever suggested a Maintenance occupation to me!

But I did hear an interesting tidbit today that brightened my day. Another stroke of inspiration, another easy, get-rich-quick method of murder.

Mudblood Granger and Potter were chatting amicably at a table, not noticing my slouched, eavesdropping form behind the bookshelves. Hey, what can you expect? The bloke was thick enough to mention my name!

"… the necklace into the school-"

"Oh Harry, not that again…" Again? What do they know?

"Come on, why not?" I was curious to hear the answer to this one.

"Look. Secrecy sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don't they? They're used to find dark magic and dark objects. They'd have picked up a powerful curse, like the one in the necklace, within seconds. But something that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register –and anyway love potions aren't dark or dangerous…" Filch would have known? Hm. Good thing, then, that the necklace never reached the school.

"Easy for you to say…" Paranoia much? And ouch. Just inadvertently insulted his best friend. Why was he popular again?

"-so it would be down to Filch to realize it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard, so I doubt he can tell one potion from-" At this time, idiotic I leaned into the bookcase in anticipation. Hearing the movement, she stopped talking and they sat there, crouched like wildcats, ears aloft and making no more sound than soft panting. I did the same, and the tension stretched. They were wondering what sinister thing awaited beyond the bookcase. I was wondering what sinister action they would take when they discovered me; there was little chance Potter had forgiven me for the train ride (not that I am sorry in the least respect), and that he suspected me of cursing his teammate did not help my odds.

From the bright, carefree atmosphere that usually pervaded the library, there had come a hush of darkness. Blood beating in my ears, and muscles straining to stay still, adrenaline pouring through and daring me to stop this waiting game, to thrust my wand through the shelves and scream rather than this terrible game of cat and mouse…

"The library" came the unbecoming caw of Madam Pince "is now closed. Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct –What have you been doing to that book, you depraved book?" As her voice rose to a menacing shriek, I took advantage of their distraction, dashing away to the dungeons.

My dorm mates' heads turned comically in my direction as I passed, though I paid them no mind. Settling in the top bunk of my bed, in the eerie green light reflecting off of the stone walls, I hurriedly scribbled this note:

_Send me a message with this coin the next time anyone from the school mail-orders anything_.

I packaged one of the two coins that I had been working on in the library. Simple, with a Protean Charm on it. And ironic, too. Potter, who so despises me (as much as I him) but whose words and actions have been guiding me to victory, is an interesting role to contemplate.

Would he know the culprit, when he finds his beloved headmaster dead?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: Hey guys. Sorry it's been 29 days since my last update! Hope ya had a nice month without me. Thanksgiving and Hanukkah have past, New Year, Hanukkah (or Chanukkah, if you prefer), Kwanzaa, Winter Equinox, and Christmas coming soon. HAPPY :D HOLIDAYS!_

_I might not update until I find my HBP book (I can find the first, the fourth, fifth, and seventh, and tales of beedle the bard, but I CAN'T FIND HBP!_

_Then again, I might. Tell me (review or PM) if I have inadvertently betrayed canon in any way._

_**Finally, I want to wish the following reviewers and any future ones a VERY MERRY Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, New Year, and any winter birthdays out there**:_

_mjmusiclover: Aw. Well don't worry, Santa'll be sure to leave you some nice, smoother stockings in your stockings._

_ravenclawfever: Yay! A new reader! Glad to hear it sounds natural! That's what any writer wants.  
_

_XSkylarMalfoyX: High praise, thank you._

_Lovealwayshopes: Sorry it took so long for me to update! I love how your reviews always interpret Draco's feelings._

_Review if you know what's good for you. :) Not like I'm going to do anything if you don't. Well, I might cry a little. Um.... What was I saying? Oh yeah:_

_**New Years Resolution- Let's finish this! We'll see it through to the end, and accomplish what no one has ever done before! Stay with me, guys!**  
_


	43. VI: Intermission

_Disclaimer: I pledge allegiance to the author of the Harry Potter septet, and to the books, by which they stand, one universe, under Rowling, indivisible, with magic and love to all._

_Also, if you currently are only interested in Draco POV's, skip this chapter.  
_

* * *

Hello.

You're a journal, I see.

You fell out of a boys book bag. It was odd. I would have alerted him, but before I could I saw his tired eyes, and they were like little grey stones, and they were such sad grey stones, and I wasn't sure how stones could be sad, so while I contemplated the possible emotions he had already turned the corner and gone on his way.

Certainly, I'm not daft. At least, I don't think I am. The sorting hat put me in Ravenclaw, see. Curiosity can occasionally overpower sense, but how can you acquire sense without curiosity? So don't judge me too soon, please. You're one of the few who haven't.

I followed him around the corner. He was pacing very quickly and looked very focused, the little stones shrinking slightly in his squint. His skin was also slightly grey, for he was so pale, I noted. He disappeared.

Now alone in the corridor, I stepped out and surveyed my surroundings. Ah, look! There was that darling little poster of the dancing trolls. Poor Barnabas! His assassination was quite unfortunate; Daddy's article explaining how the trolls had _not_ been the culprits had gone largely ignored, so there was no one to teach the trolls the ballet. Now people just laughed at him, like they do to Daddy and I. Barnabas probably doesn't care, though; he's probably got much more important things on his mind where he is than the obtuseness of the masses.

He must have gone into the Room of Requirement. I didn't want to disturb him. After all, he could be wanting a bit of private time. One never knows with strangers.

You felt firm and promising in my arms.

I opened you. You said to me:

_Property of Draco Lucius Malfoy. Do not read. You have been warned._ in block writing.

Under that was the unsuccessfully crossed-out message:

_To Drakie! Ur finally a preteen! Hogwart's guna b awsume! 3 From Pansy!_

For a moment, I peered curiously at the "Hogwart's guna b awsume!" It was amazing; this Pansy had managed to do five things that would cause Daddy to fire her (guna should be going to or at least gonna, b should be be, awsume needs an o instead of a u, the apostrophe should be after the s in Hogwarts, and excessive use of exclamation points) in one sentence.

I perambulated away from the room. I will ask Ginny Weasley whose this was. I am not too popular, and so do not pay much mind to the names and faces of people, except the nice ones. There are very few of those, making them easier to keep track of, and also to relate to Daddy. With such numbers, I don't have to choose which people to talk about and which to not.

Having friends _would_ be nice, I know. Dumbledore's Army was a very interesting experience, and one that I miss. Ginny is still kind to me, though. In Transfiguration, she stopped two boys from ridiculing me. I don't mind it anymore, but it was a nice gesture. Ginny is very popular.

* * *

You know, you're good luck. Today has been an unusually successful endeavor. My days are always unusual, as unpopularity is much more interesting that popularity. But today was _successful_, too.

I was wandering down from Ravenclaw Tower. I stopped short of my destination of aimlessness, however. A sudden urge to go to the bathroom had overtaken me.

There was a sound coming from the door. I recognized it as crying. Even though I have little socialization other than scorn, that sound is very easy to tell. Daddy made it when Mother went away, and so now someone made it here.

Here, caution battled privacy and curiosity and empathy. Caution lost. The door creaked open. A surprise waited for me there.

I can only attribute this turn of events to your charm: the person behind the door was recognizable! Consider that. Nothing short of remarkable, certainly.

When I see someone, I draw upon the moments amid the solitude that might tell me how to interact with her. My conclusion is that I'm unsure. She scoffed at the Quibbler when we first met. However, she does go out of her way not to offend me, despite not believing in anything I say at all. We agree on the teaching skills of Professor Hagrid, though she is easily influenced by her friends, who let affection blind them from the truth.

Unsure as I am, no person should cry uncomforted. Comforting away tears may be one of the few activities that people don't call me "Loony" during, too blinded by their own despair to notice who was helping them.

Hermione had been crying because Ronald had laughed at her. She is not as used to being laughed at as I am. Eventually, she felt well enough to get up, and dry her tears. It was much quicker than I had expected.

We were walking in companionable silence when we saw Harry. He was holding a pile of books.

I won't give you a background on Harry, as your owner probably knows who he is anyway. He is rather popular, too. Ginny used to fancy him. Now she got over his fame, since she's popular, too.

The books were Hermione's, and I thought that was vaguely sweet of him, commenting "Did you know your eyebrows are bright yellow?" after we had all made our greetings.

Hermione ran off, leaving the two of us alone. Unlike the alone of my dormitory, or the alone of the crowds, alone with Harry was nice.

The conversation continued.

"Ronald can be a bit unkind," I ventured. "I noticed that last year." Harry looked uncomfortable. Once again, his friendship obscures his clarity of thought. Hermione would make a better Ravenclaw than Harry. Instead of voicing his displeasure, Harry asked me how fifth year was going, and I began to talk, and then he interrupted me and asked if I'd like to go to Slughorn's Christmas party.

It was pleasantly surprising, due to both the interruption and the asking and the presence of a Christmas party. It made sense, though. Slughorn would certainly pass as Santa. "Slughorn's party?" I cataloged each novel idea as I spoke. "With you?"

"Yeah. We're supposed to bring guests, so I thought you might like... I mean... I mean, just as friends, you know? But if you don't want to..."

"Oh, no, I'd love to go with you as friends! Nobody's ever asked me to a party before, as a friend!" I tasted the word with wonder, and my brain seemed to snap into action, "Is that why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I do mine now?" _Friends!_

Harry said no, and then was telling me where to meet him when Peeves burst in and cried "AHA!" Agog at the news, he sped away cackling, singing "Potty lurves Loooooony!" Despite the nickname and Peeves' less than pleasing singing, the phrase only struck home all of the wonderful things that had happened to me because of you.

"Because of You," is a muggle song, but its depression does not mesh with my feelings. Perhaps more fitting muggle music would be "Happy Together." _Together_, because I have _friends_!

* * *

Ginny's reaction was very kind, considering she had crushed on this boy for many years. She was merely happy for me, and I let my reservations vanish and my excitement bubble over.

"Life is improving, in a roundabout sort of way. Last year, I had the D. A.," I said. "and now I have someone who considers me a friend!"

"Hey," objected Ginny. "You're my friend, too!"

I told her that my success was partly do to you. She took a look at your owner's name, and recognized it, but wouldn't tell me who it was. "He's not much of a friend to Gryffindors," she said simply, handing it back to him. Curiosity like that of a Ravenclaw consumed her for a moment, and she asked, "Is there anything interesting in there?"

Shocked, my eyes widened. She regained her senses rather quickly, though. "Sorry. I know you wouldn't read other people's words."

And so, here is my trust in humanity, that if I do not read your entries, you won't read mine. However, that kind of naivety does not suit me, so I also conclude that it matters not. No one cares about the thoughts of Luna "Loony" Lovegood.

* * *

The party was nice. Harry was good to me, and Professor Trelawney was exceedingly interestied in the Rotfang Conspiracy. She used to be one of my favorite teachers (now I have Firenze), for her situation is very similar to mine. She is ostracized by what others call her "far-fetched" beliefs. There is something very strange about the party atmosphere, perhaps combined with that of Christmas. Parties are fun; perhaps one day I will be invited to another one.

Your owner came very close to me this evening. I do apologize for not returning you; there was simply no way to discreetly hand you over. Plus, I hadn't even brought you; you didn't fit into my robes. They were silver, by the way, sort of like your owner's eyes, except also spangled. Daddy used to call me his Great Spangled Fritillary. He said that they were beautiful but hard to catch. Actually, though, that was the only butterfly that he knew the name of.

Harry left for the bathroom and did not return for quite a while; perhaps the mead had not done his bowels well. Eventually the drunk Professor was too listless to pay any mind to my words, so I simply thought about the concept of friends. I certainly would have to do something wonderful as a result of this revelation.

* * *

_A/N: And there the chapter ends. Finally, Draco has lost his journal! I know, this is really random and not plot-related at all. If you hate me for it, at least review and tell me._

_To the valiant ScOrPiA pOiSoN, who reviewed twice and will probably not see this page for a very very long time: Good idea! Now, if I only _saved_ what I write! . And as for the MLIA's: I know, right? They're awesome! There are _average_ people as HP-obsessed as we are! They couldn't be mine; our lives are what they are._

_Til next time!  
_


	44. VI: Reality is Nightmarish

_Disclaimer: I am a Harry Potter fan. Fan rhymes with the greek root "pan," which means all. _All_ of you should know by now that J. K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter._

_

* * *

_January 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

F*** this "ack" s***. You were gone for a _month_! A _month_!

In the horrible irony of luck that is my life, my journal happens to be picked up by the one person in this entire school too loony to even think of sharing it with her friends, or reading any of it, or burning it in the fireplace.

Seriously? Seriously? What the hell is this? I have a heart attack about you, and it turns out that I wasn't even found out?

FML

Draco Malfoy

* * *

January 3, 1997

Dear Journal,

I read that girl's entries. If I ever needed proof that all of Harry Potter's friends were pathetic as hell, this right here is it. Though I wouldn't show it to anyone, as it's rather incriminating.

Watch her pine for friends, feel grateful for companionship with a _mudblood_, believe that _you_ were a good luck charm (snort) and call my skin greyish. Ugh. It's so weird, to be so lucky and to hate it so much.

So, how was life with her? Cheerful, perhaps? Yeah, it must have been great to get away from my b****ing, huh? That's probably what you little journals think about. S'not like you have a life other than mine.

I want a dreamless sleep potion, but there's no time to sleep.

Draco Mallfoy

* * *

January 7, 1997

Dear Journal,

Wow. I actually spelled my name wrong. Here I am whining about how pathetic Lovegood is (ha, that's a stupid last name) when really I'm so pathetic I misspell my name. Yeah, by the way, no, the Cabinet isn't working, and all I'm succeeding in doing is ruining my life and giving myself blisters and killing more birds.

Oh, wait, nevermind. I can't be ruining my life; it was gone the moment that I got this da**ed mark on my arm.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

January 18, 1997

Dear Journal,

You know what I realized? Why should I write down stuff that has happened and what I know if I already know it to write down? Diaries are excessively stupid. And dangerous. And fatuous. And perilous. And now I'm just using synonyms for foolish and treacherous. But whatever. The time I lost with you was really stupid. I mean, diaries only create weakness. This diary is a weakness. Life dragged without you. This entire disastrous debacle of me trying to serve my Master could have been exposed because I had been too sleep-deprived to check the zipper on my bag. I'm not _writing down_ emotions; I'm creating them!

And weakness is how the Dark Lord ensnared me in the first place.

Having this diary- the term journal is just a childish cover up - must be the worst thing that ever happened to me. It's wreaking havoc on my life. I should throw you in the fire.

I would be able to concentrate on and solve my task.

I would be able to sleep.

I would not dwell on unpleasant things.

I would not cry.

Pansy would come back to me.

But I can't bring myself to do it. The green flames, as enticing as they are, will not devour this poison because it has been injected into me long before, and it creeps inside of me. there is no respite; there is no escape. Thank you, diary. Thank you, Dark Lord. Now I know what weakness is,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

February 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

I've begun to sleep again. Only an hour a night, but it might help.

Goodnight,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

February 2, 1997

Dear Journal,

How naive of me to think that an hour of sleep could make any difference!

For when I sleep, I cannot escape the nightmares. I dreamed that something was torturing me and the world, and everything was rocking in its pain, and despite the agony it was the torturer who haunted me the most. I think it was Snape, except his hair was short and messy rather than greasy, and he was my age. His black eyes were just as dark, but they were narrowed into slits. Snape was saying, "Do you think _that_ could be a dream?" with every shriek that he induced. But his voice was not his own, it was Father's. So it is the essence of Snape that doesn't look like Snape or sound like Snape, but who is Snape, and he's torturing me, and with that insufferable calm that is definitely Snape, "You must know how to act! You are being incautious, foolish in the extreme! _This is no dream, Draco!_" he says with another cruel twist.

When I awoke, my left arm was painfully crushed underneath my body. I gingerly lifted the sleeve of my robes.

The Dark Mark was a deep black.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

February 25, 1997

Dear Journal,

There is another nightmare; but this is a recurring one.

I am trapped under this unseen but everpresent cloud of depression and fear. The threat of everyone dear rests on me, and only me. There is a great evil, beyond all else, that pushes down on me, shoving me to the ground. It is the Dark Lord and the Potions Professor and the Chosen One. It is one and the same. They all shove, drill me down and down. I'm desperately resisting capitulation to the titan's curse, but Father Sky is too heavy for me. Mother Earth calls from below, wanting to make love once again. But I must stop them, for this love is destructive. Fulfilling their desire would cause

And then there are the ones who mill around, watching the Sky bear down on us but not understanding its threat. They see my distress, and they all take the shape of Parkinson, and Parkinson says, or say, as she is so many people, "I know what you're going through. Confide to me and I'll make it better."

And then she climbs atop of the Sky, looking below and asking how she can help, but her request is just a burden because I _can't_ tell her and she _won't_ know and she already doesn't even understand the problem enough to know that anything she says just makes it so much worse, just adds to the weight and makes the titan's curse harder to bear.

I am not referring to people by their usual names as I do not want to wet the page with saltwater.

...but I forgot the worst part of this dream of me on the bottom and my knees sinking and my palms chafing and sweat dripping in thick amounts.

The worst part is that I can never figure out how to wake up,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N Two updates in a week! The last two chapters have been a bit different from the last parts. I figured the pattern of trying and failing had already been established and such monotony is now unnecessary. I know I have to get back to real time "events," as a few things have happened that Draco isn't specifically mentioning._

_Some of the things in Draco's dreams refer to specific events that he hasn't discussed yet. Well, one thing in particular. Special mention to anyone who knows what this is before the next chapter.  
_

_Technically, I'm still in HBP15, as I haven't mentioned anything from Chapter 16 yet. But next chapter I will._

_Oh yeah, about the dreams. I put a lot of work into them, trying to making them symbolic but hopefully not as intolerable as, say, the painfully obvious and non-dreamlike dreams of Isabella Swan in the Twilight saga. Please comment on them in particular!  
_


	45. VI: Explanation Owed

_Disclaimer: Oh dear, let me see... Ownership of Harry Potter... Authorship of Harry Potter, no that's not it... Contract selling HP rights to me... Not here either! Hmph, that rascal J. K. Rowling must have it! Oh well. It was worth a try._

_

* * *

_February 28, 1997

Dear Journal,

I owe you an explanation. Of all the apologies I owe and will probably never work up the Gryffindor to say, surely I can at least write something on a piece of paper.

I'm sorry for being so *****y lately. If you didn't notice, I'm kind of depressed. So right now, before I go back to normal Dracoing and all that lovely s***, I'm going to give you that explanation I owe, so that at least my own diary won't have leverage over me.

Two weeks ago, February 14th passed. For the first time in three years, I was alone for it.

Two weeks before that, on February 1st, Harry Potter overheard me giving instructions to Crabbe and Goyle during our apparition lessons (which are probably a waste of time anyway. I wanted to send an owl to my Master to say that you could apparate into the Great Hall on the days of those lessons. That would be so easy! But nothing can be quite that simple, not for me, eh? Dumble-dunce has only lifted the protections for Great Hall-into-Great Hall apparation. Da** him.)

And two weeks before that, a scene you might recognize from that lunatic's entries, I was dragged into the "Slug Club's" Christmas bash by Filch. Of course, having accidentally displayed a bit of envy to Blaise, the prat who in wartime is getting invited to parties, he was so smug I wanted to sock his smirk off of his face. But I didn't, for that would be quite counterproductive, and the Slytherin I am took control of myself, so instead, when that Squib began to chatter away happily about my multitude of sins, I, the actor extraordinaire, burst out, "Fine! I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

A wonderful excuse, of course, and everything would have gone quite swimmingly if not for Professor Snape. There were several couches to nap on (oh, naps! How I adore them! They quite suffice in place of sleep!), and Blaise might be taken down a notch and I would have the solitude among the masses, to plot and plan and conceivably use the inebriated professors milling about to my advantage and soon have to answers to my Cabinet issue, and at the same time swap the bottle of poisoned mead for the one of regular (which I could have then enjoyed a lot, for my firewhiskey supply is running rather low. Father can no longer supply me.), written a "To the Headmaster. Merry Christmas. From Horace" and Dumbledore's death would be ensured twice over.

If not for Professor Snape...

Draco Malfoy

* * *

March 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

Ronald Weasley was poisoned in the study of Slughorn today morning on a glass of oak-matured mead. Pansy (I got the news through Nott, of course; he is vaguely tolerable, since his father is a fellow Death Eater, so I allow him to tell me the news) infers that it was likely a mistake, as he _had_ been in the Potion Master's study, but I know better. I have been cut short of my explanation by this tremendous news, and will continue later. For now you only have to ponder the significance of this event, and then *viola* you shall know what I mean when I tell you that while Ronald Weasley being poisoned could never be a bad thing, that poor, filthy blood-traitor prat, in this case it is not necessarily a good thing, either, due to some exceptional circumstances.

The _point_ is that in light of this mistake and Harry Potter's increasing suspicions, the urgency of fixing the f***ing Cabinet has only increased.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

March 8, 1997

Dear Journal,

Here I am, on my wonderful weekly journal writing, to break the terrible monotony of Cabinet, crying, and classes. Back to the "if not for Professor Snape..."

His suspicions were unsatisfied with my five-star performance, and so he insisted on dragging me to a useless conversation in his office. (I'm being dragged a lot of places these days. Dragged to Hogwarts by the train, dragged to the Room of Requirement by my task, dragged to tears by my despair, and the two draggings you've witnessed in the past three entries. I'm surprised that I don't have a carpet burn.)

He insisted that he was my _friend_, that he wanted to _help_ me. Well, I had news for him. I'd learned a bit about the cruel, corrupt world since Father was jailed, so if he thinks I would be so naive to kneel down as a stepping stone for him, well, he's got an unpleasant surprise coming.

Well, let me go through this chronologically. First, he was trying to tell me what was at stake, how important it was for me to succeed. Er... DUH. What kind of fool does he think I am? Apparently, a clumsy one, as his next words indicated.

I protested my innocence, and he said cuttingly "I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it." Then he has the nerve to try Legitimancy on me! How dare he?! I am no child anymore. I know what he is, and I have set myself against him. The _Malfoy_ family will rise to prominence again, and boo-hoo to he who was the Dark Lord's right hand man before. I relish in the image of his forlorn, thwarted face when _I_ sit beside Him, when He delegates his most important tasks to me (not that I particularly look forward to that part), when my parents look at me with pride and joy rather than the condescending spoiling they treat me with, and when He trusts _me_ above all others. Then, _I_'ll ask _him_ "Severus, what thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master?" and he will writhe under the power of my gaze.

Anyway, back to the conversation. "I'm not trying to conceal anything from him [except for fears, self-doubt, and blasphemous anger]! I just don't want _you_ butting in!" I retort. He starts talking about how he's been so _lenient_ with me, and I cry out in frustration "So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!" At this point, I can recount every single word of the conversation.

"You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things."

"You'd better stop telling me to come to your office then!" Maybe I would believe him if he stopped contradicting himself.

Snape's voice lowered, and he spoke with more urgency. "Listen to me. I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco-"

Finally! The truth comes out. He's never given a d*** for me, and now poor Mother has put her trust in him, so he's trying to use it for his own advantage. "Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection! It's _my_ job, he gave it to me and I'm doing it, I've got a plan and it's going to work, it's just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!" A _lot_ longer, and the prospect of working was dim, but it was easy to be defiant and confident when Snape pried me open like this. The words that poured out of my mouth encouraged me, and my heart stirred in hope, that wonderful, ridiculous, and powerful force of nature.

"What is your plan?"

"It's none of your business!" Like I would tell _you_, I thought, scowling.

"If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you..."

Probably, but then all of my studying and slaving would be for naught, for he could claim the project as his own in an instant. "I have all the assistance I need, thanks, I'm not alone!" Yeah. Borgin's sure to get back to me soon...

"You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backups-"

"I would've had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn't put them in detention!" I snarled. Our impassioned voices were rising with impunity. I didn't care at the moment, though.

"Keep your voice down! If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres-" What the hell? First you're talking about your Unbreakable Vow, and now those two dunces' educations are worth more than that?

"What does it matter? 'Defense Against the Dark Arts,' it's just a joke, isn't it? An act! Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts-"

This time _he_ interrupted _me_. He was losing control, too. It was refreshing after his horrific calm and condescending patience. "It is an act-" so he agreed! "that is crucial to success, Draco! Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle-"

Has he forgotten that I am too a Death Eater? "They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!" like Borgin and Nott. Oh, how close I was to revealing all about the siege planned. Occlumency or no occlumency, I need to be careful.

He forced his voice back to patience. "Then why not confide in me, and I can-"

"I know what you're up to! You're trying to steal my glory!" Finally, it was out. The statement I had wanted to fling at him every time I saw his supercilious face in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was inevitable, really that I would say it, that he would trigger me too much and my safeties would explode. Inside myself, it was Slytherin versus Slytherin ideals. Gettysburg (a battle in the U. S. where Americans fought Americans and fifty thousand of them died as a result) had passed. I reiterate: _Finally_, it was out!

He paused to contemplate this, I standing across from him, entirely exposed (except for the details of my plan). Finally, he said thus, showing how little he knows or cares about me: "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's imprisonment and capture has upset you, but-"

I leapt out of my chair and dashed out of the room. How dare he mention Father, rotting away in a cell while the dementors sucked away his soul, and that knowledge that sucked away my own soul! How dare he presume to understand at all; his very statement belies the falsehood.

For those words, I could have killed Snape. Would be more enjoyable than Dumbledore, at least. Hm. I'd better work on my motivation. Hesitance could cost my life rather than the intended victim.

Whatever. I'll think about it tomorrow. S'not like I'm anywhere near the actual deed anyway. For now, you know a bit more about what has been going on.

Until next week,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

March 14, 1997

Dear Journal,

Next week has come. The last part you need to know is that Madam Rosmerta the Imperiused sent me an owl while your were lost in Lovegood's possession. The note looked as if it hadn't been handwritten; the sprawl was so orderly and consistent. I suppose that's was Imperio does to you. Through a series of quick correspondence, I persuaded her to give Professor Slughorn some poisoned mead for Dumbledore's Christmas present, with a bit of Imperio in it so that he would have the idea to give it to the Headmaster. The whole idea originated from the mudblood Granger's words.

Everything went seamlessly, but Dumbledore did not drop dead.

I had a confrontation with Professor Snape. Christmas came and passed. I spoiled my robes in potions class _again_. But Dumbledore did not drop dead.

Then, two weeks ago, I discovered where the poison had really ended up. I informed you of my conclusion, and so there it is. Potter has even more reasons to suspect me, my last "backup," as Professor Snape had stressed the importance of, has been foiled, and now I must hope and hope that there will be any sort of success for the Cabinet.

Meanwhile, Apparition classes started on the first of February and continued for all of the Saturdays until the Gryffindor match with Hufflepuff. For the most part of the year, I have been ignoring this sport that I now take no part of, but this time I just wanted to say this: Gryffindor lost! Ha! Take that, Harry Potter! He fell off his broom once again, though this time McLaggen did the job and not the dementors. McLaggen is some Gryffindor who's their Keeper replacement. I'm getting many mangled reports about what happened; some say McLaggen hit Potter in the face with a bat that he had stolen from a Beater, others that McLaggen missed the Bludger completely and the Bludger got Harry in the face, and still more say that McLaggen hit the Bludger into Potter's face. Either way, Potter's head hurt afterward, and it is a sad thing that I wasn't there to see it.

Oh, and you know what? Potter saw me sneaking away from the game! Just another checkmark on his list. I avoid him as much as possible now. No snide remarks or sneers, nothing to draw attention to myself. The Chosen One worries me; practically in Dumbledore's pocket, if he figures out what I'm up to...! Well, no use in speculating or worrying about what hasn't happened. Just need to take severe precautions.

Also, Luna Lovegood was commentating. Just thought that you might be interested in that tidbit.

Now, there it was: the explanation owed. Thank you, no encores, and good night.

Cabinet time,

Draco Malfoy

_

* * *

A/N: The third chapter of a busy writing week. Draco calls Vince, Greg and Teddy by their surnames for a reason. I did not forget, I promise. I'm just trying to show Draco's lack of companionship. He casts away everyone near._

_I'm also being very free with the * key, if you hadn't noticed. I thought it might be fitting for the current character of dynamic Draco Malfoy. Not fitting for me, though, so I compromise with asterisks. They only refer to swearing, and do not indicate Draco's steroid use (why would he need them? He's got no game, got no girl, got no good)..._

_By the way, if you did happen to skip the chapter entitled "Intermission," just know that it was Luna's POV for Slughorn's Christmas Party. It is meant to contrast with Draco.  
_

_**mjmusiclover**: The Lone Reviewer! Like the Lone Ranger, but more heroic! Thank you. It's so nice to hear that you found it beautiful. And yes, your guess is quite on the mark, as I noted above._

_Hey guys! Join mjmusiclover! No fee, no need to have a fanfiction account, nothing! Just ten seconds or so to be a hero! Come on- ***R-E-V-I, you ain't got no alibi, E-W, yeah, yeah, review, yeah!*** (based off that exceedingly offensive and shallow song known as U.G.L.Y. which I do not approve of or endorse or any way)  
_


	46. VI: Grow Up

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not a wizard. Magic does not exist. Everyone is muggle. You cannot really find anything in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._

_...wait, what? That disclaimer is ridiculous! Not to mention completely and obviously untrue. Pffbt! Scrap that idea. An _honest_ disclaimer would express that Joanne Kathleen Rowling owns Harry Potter, not the above nonsense!_

_

* * *

_March 16, 1997

Dear Journal,

Miss me? Of course you did.

Well, aren't I pathetic. I shouldn't make fun of Luna Lovegood; that's just hypocritical. Why? At least she doesn't take a detour to the bathroom and cry her eyes out on the sink and be comforted by the most depressed ghost in Hogwarts.

I mean, what the f*** is wrong with me? I'm such a waste of oxygen. I can't even finish this one lousy task, and all I do is go over the edge and make everyone else feel miserable and pity me. Pity! A Malfoy who inspired pity! Ay, there's the rub. Can you imagine how it feels to know that your depression has now passed the threshold of Moaning Myrtle so that _she_ has to comfort _you_?!

And I made such a _baby_ of myself. Such a spectacle. Every single thing I have ever ridiculed has been thrown back at me. I sobbed. I wept. I complained. I let of Mudblood pat me on the back and sympathize with me. I emptied myself to her, the absolute opposite of the way Slytherins are supposed to act. I promised her I'd come back, because she was such a good listener and I felt like I loved her more than anything else. I am closest only to the dead. Holy s***, I'm turning into a Hufflepuff. Or a corpse. I can't believe this!

When it was happening, I felt so down I didn't even notice how everything is turning around for me. It doesn't make sense anymore, Mother. Take me home. Wash off my dark mark, pull the covers over my face and protect me.

How is it that becoming a Death Eater, the solidification of all of my beliefs against weakness [death, dirt, and emotion], has turned me into exactly what I despised?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

March 25, 1997

Dear Journal,

Myrtle is really nice. Maybe death gives you a wiser perspective in life? Well, whatever.

She's pretty immature and strange, too. She thrills in my visits, basks in my tears even while she solaces me. But she sympathizes. I don't know if anything I say to her makes sense, but it's such a relief. When I'm crying to her, somehow, irrationally, I feel like she has the discretion to keep my confessions mum... However inconceivably, I trust her.

She's so apart from it all, apart from my living dream about the sky and the ground and the helpless observers. The life has been sucked out of her, and it's like she's just this portal that I can escape to, who has nothing but me, who is made by me, who will help only me and cares nothing for anything else. I don't think she really counts as a Mudblood, because she's dead, right?

Even writing about her calms me down. I'm going back. I know it will. Everything is just coming to be too much, and whenever I feel like I'm saturated with all the s*** that has become me, it's such a comfort to place a disillusionment charm on myself, and take off toward a bathroom and just let the tears well up. I feel like a f***ing water fountain, or one of those broken faucets she's so fond of. Before I could just pull into myself, but now, ever since the last entry, I suppose, I just explode at ever reminder of failure, and it's simply a feat to hold it in before I reach her.

I'm not sure if she really helps, but I don't have any choice, do I? D***ed if I do, d***ed if I don't. She encourages my tears. Tears: stupid droplets of water that drive you crazy, that empty you and give you a feeling of utter emptiness. She's like firewhiskey, in a way; I can't get away from the tears (that's what she is, the embodiment of tears) and I don't think they do me any good, but I still cry.

I'm so da*nedly desperate for help, but my confusion overrides that impulse,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

March 26, 1997

Dear Journal,

I just realized that my analogy was wrong. It's not that she's like firewhiskey; she's like you used to be to me. Another weakness, another loss. Should I wean myself off of you into her dead Mudblood arms, or should I wean myself off of her and surrender myself to you completely?

The latter is what was happening before, but it seems like now I'm too... incompetent to be satisfied with only one. The cold, rough pages aren't enough, her cold, dead voice isn't enough, together, though...

They're still not enough.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

April 9, 1997

Dear Journal,

If I can't stand even the thought of it, how am I actually supposed to kill him?

That chilling thought came to me as I quietly bawled to Myrtle. When I sobbed that I couldn't do it, I was thinking about the Cabinet, but then I realized that does the state of the Cabinet even matter, if I can't _actually_ do it?

In a way, I'm making this far too complex then it needs to be. Conceivably, I should be able to ask the Headmaster for a private word in a deserted corridor, and then whip out my wand to do the deed. The Vanishing Cabinet is like a safety blanket, making it harder for me, postponing the event. The plan itself is a safety blanket. Distract him with other Death Eaters, distract the world with them, so that it would be so much easier.

I have to work up my resolve. Already, I've done some Unforgivables (just _Imperius_), and I've almost killed a few people. But somehow, the Cruciatus and Killing Curses seem different and worse. They're like some boundary past innocence. My inability just magnifies this plain fact: I am still such a _child_.

If I had grown up and gotten the Dark Mark, it might be different. Instead, I tried to fool myself into believing that I was mature enough, that I was an adult, that I could take on this task and replace Father, who is infinitely more than I could ever be.

Has he killed? Probably. Tortured? Most definitely. Did he give such things a second glance? Not remotely. There's the difference between adulthood and adolescence: the ability to perform the means that are justified by the ends.

There's nothing left for me. I am laid bare, here. That's why I go wailing to Myrtle like a babe, needing a twelve-year old ghost to play Mommy for me. That's why I draw back in fear from the task I must perform. That's why the disfiguration of my arm strangles me like the blood-sucking bugbears under the bed.

_I am still such a _child,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

April 21, 1997

Dear Journal,

Today is the day that everybody except for maybe three people (Potter, some Hufflepuff, and me) is seventeen and taking the apparition exam.

Some say that adulthood comes when you come of age, others say it comes with tragedy. I know what adulthood means for me, and I will stop at nothing to reach it. I now know this: if I am ever to accomplish what I want, I must grow up.

Here I am going to establish my utter distaste and loathing for Albus Dumbledore. I need to state and know for myself exactly why he _deserves_ the fate I have been ordered for him, and I know that you, my dear journal, will catalogue it for me. Every time my resolve weakens, I can turn to you and you will guide me.

- One life for my family of three. He must die.

- The Headmaster loves Harry Potter beyond all else. Harry Potter is disgusting. Pedophilia is disgusting. He deserves to be disciplined.

- He loves Harry Potter and the Gryffindors beyond else. Favoritism is unacceptable; he, a teacher! The head of a school, constantly sending the message that Slytherins are the evils of the world! Do you recall that occasion in first year, when in a blantant abuse of power he stripped away our prizes to give to the Gryffindors? What kind of Headmaster is it who deliberately shuns a whole fourth of a school? He deserves to be punished.

- His talk is meaningless. All that he says about unity and equality vanishes in the sight of his actions. There are some actions, however, that should not be reduced to talk. He must be killed.

- A wizard endowed with the treats of pure blood and wealth, he pretends to champion the Muggle-borns, patron the Muggles! And patronize his fellow purebloods. One who treats the gifts of life so lightly does not deserve to have such gifts. He must die.

- When he kills and jails Death Eaters, does he care what is at stake? Does he care that they have lives, and that they do not deserve to have their happiness sucked out? Does he care? When he captured Father, did he pause to think that they, too are human? That I, too, am human? That maybe just because we're Slytherin and our beliefs differ from his that we're not completely d***able? He is the embodiment of every single person who divides the world into good people and death eaters. He is why Father is as good as dead. I must kill him.

Draco Malfoy

* * *

May 7, 1997

Dear Journal,

Before Pomfrey mops me up, and before I plunge into Dreamless sleep, I want to know that this has been real.

Here I blotch the nearly-dried blood from my chest.

What are the repercussions?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: So, how are you liking my update-every-three-days pattern that's been going on since chapter 43? And now only one chapter left of HBP._

_ASKLDFLAKJ DSLFKJL FREAK OUT!_

_THIS FIC NOW HAS **101** REVIEWS! Like **101** DALMATIONS! **To my illustrious reviewers here:**_

_mjmusiclover: Hopefully not just loyalty. And look, you're not alone today!_

_Harry and Ginny 4 ev: You won't see this for a while, but for unsigned reviewers this is the best I can do. Thank you for the name! Right now I'm focusing on the finish line, and then revisions will be made later._

_Lovealwayshopes: I MISSED YOU! How fitting that you have once again joined me at this momentous occasion. Good, the tone is just where I want it._

_SavemefromtheZeKifangirls: The 98, 99, 100, and 101st reviewer! Btw, I tried to read your profile, but it overwhelmed. :) Also, I personally replied to yours in my euphoria, but I'll reiterate here: (1) Mwahaha, Draco never finds out. (2) I'm glad it was funny. I wanted it to be. (3) Still can't find HBP book. Ginny (I think) said it to describe Ron and Lavender's relationship. (4) I know! I wanted to cry too!_

_**I love you guys.** Reviews are so precious and darling. I love just detailing every single one right here on the bottom of the page. I love the thrill I see when I see that not only are people clicking on the link and refreshing the page, but that my story was actually read and even elicited a response, as simple as "update!" or as complex as a detailed analysis of the chapter's tone, fluency, and themes. A lot of you probably don't write here. Many of you likely don't even have an account. I just want you to know, though, that electing to type up a review is such a simple act of generosity and kindness, it's like a beam of sunlight through two perfectly aligned clouds.  
_


	47. VI: Fixed

_Disclaimer: I do, pretty much, own this piece of writing. I've been laboring for hours over it. It is MINE! (Well, other than the strict dialogue of the last entry of this chapter.)  
_

_However, I do not own:_

_Draco Malfoy (or any other characters)_

_Greek Mythology (I'm not _that_ old)_

_the Harry Potter series (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them, Quidditch Through the Ages, and the Tales of the Beedle the Bard are also, regrettably, not mine)_

_the rights to make a movie of Harry Potter_

_or J. K. Rowling herself (no, I do not tolerate slavery. I apologize for any inconveniences or offended peoples)._

_No, all that I've written (that you care about, most likely) are the words on these pages. Enjoy.  
_

_

* * *

_May 8, 1997

Dear Journal,

D***, this is f***ed up. One second I'm going to the Room of Requirement, determined to grow up and prove myself a man once and for all, and then I'm baring my soul to Myrtle again, and _then_ I'm covered in blood and s*** (well, not literally, though I _was_ in a bathroom...)

So now I'm convalesced in Madam Pomfrey's stifling white sheets. Outside, the Quidditch field is clear and bright. The weather is mocking me! How dare thee, sun?

See, being bedridden is _not_ good for me. I'm challenging the sun. No one remotely sane challenges the _sun_,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

May 8 or 9? It's too late to tell, 1997

Dear Journal,

Did I say being bedridden wasn't good for me? Perhaps it was a gross misspelling. Or just some other tremendously strange mistake.

Then again, all of this (refers vaguely to general surroundings) seems like some tremendously strange mistake. The change is welcome, though. The new world includes lots of sleep, something the old world so conspicuously lacked.

However, the new world also includes a threat. The threat to return to the world that is governed by threats. The threat that my wounds will soon heal to Pomfrey's satisfaction, and she'll see me off with a little motherly shove and then I have to return to the Room of Requirement, which may contain what I require but not what I _want_.

But what I want is too strange and secret that even I (and you know how impossible discretion is for me better than anyone else) cannot tell you. I have learned from your imprisonment in that girl's hands. Behind her innocent joy and scatterbrains, her friendlessness and pitiful-ness, lurking underneath was that sinister threat. See? What did I tell you. My life, that other world beyond the oppressive but safe realm of white, is governed solely by threats. Violent threats. Tragic threats. Threats that violate your soul and force tears out from inside. Impossible threats that frighten you because you _do not know your enemy_. You think you did, but in the end, the closer you get to this _thing_ with it's unimaginable power and magical prowess, you know that you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, except that it very intimately involves the threat of disaster.

This _thing_ I was talking about. This secret. I cannot tell you much, so I will try this instead. It is

Very:

Oppressive by nature

Loathed by nearly all

Dark (yup, that sums it up)

Evil

Monstrous

Obstinate on world domination

Rigid and strict in his deeds

Terribly Slytherin

I could never write down his name, so filled with involuntary respect (threat here, threat there), but hopefully the clues can help you, my journal who doubles as my true love, to help me.

I know you can't, though. "Paper has more patience than people," they say.

It has nothing else,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

Definitely May 9, 1997

Dear Journal,

Strange things are afoot. I'll finally tell you, as I'm well enough and not weighed down by my moods or dreamless draught.

I had been bent on completing my task, as you might have been able to tell by the entry of April 21st. However, on May 7th, it wasn't the persistent failure that got to me. Pansy and I finally had that long-awaited "talk." The one where she vilified me for being cold, distant, and cruel, and I vilified her back for being clingy and inconsiderate. "How can that compare to hurt?" she cried.

"When it takes so long for something to get through that thick skull, I'm not surprised it hurts!"

"Oh! Why have you changed?" she demanded.

"You can't stay a child forever! Perhaps I've grown out of you! Have you ever considered that?"

"I'm not a pair of shoes, Draco! I'm a person! You used to love me!"

"Maybe, but not anymore!" My face was flushed, but hers was cold, and she had become still and proud.

"Fine, then, _Draco_. So what was it, then? Myrtle? I never thought you one for mudbloods, personally. Well, wasn't I wrong about you!" _How did she know about Myrtle? How long had she known_? I wondered. She stalked out of the room, and only then did I finally process what had happened. We had broken up. It was over. I felt completely lost. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I went to the Room of Requirement, stared at the Vanishing Cabinet in utter horror. My fist crashed through its fine windows, but the shards did not even cut my hand. Furious, forlorn, and finally understanding that I understand nothing of anything and that was why I couldn't accomplish anything, I went to the only place where no one looked and no one cared except for one person, one un-person. In Myrtle's bathroom, she rejoiced at my return for a moment before beginning to attempt to console me. I cried harder than ever, for I had failed myself. I had come back.

This time, however, there was something other than the gnawing despair in my gut to punish me for my laziness, my weak will, and my incompetence.

It came in the form of Harry Potter. The door must have opened slightly, but I, too wrapped up in my sobs, heard him not. Then I raised my head slowly and there he was in the grimy mirror. Full of outrage and shame and fear, I spun around and we began an impromptu duel. The spells started harmlessly enough, but I couldn't stand to allow my enemy to defeat me in any small way. My hand slashed in the air, I blocked spells with methods I didn't know I knew. The fight became an outlet for all of my pent up anger.

This is for _Father_.

And if not for Father, would I be wrapped up in these matters, too mature for me to grasp?

Suddenly, everything became Potter's fault. I saw it so clearly in my mind. Clarity. Maturity. Cruci-

But Potter's fury cut me off, inexplicably. What reasons did he have? What reasons compared to _mine_? He must have had something, for he had beaten me to the chase. And I slumped to the floor, confused at the copious amounts of blood that gushed out of my legs, my chest, my face... Myrtle was screaming bloody murder. She may have been right.

Professor Snape swept into the room. He banished Myrtle and fell swiftly to his knees, his wand passing over my body and his lips in ceaseless movement. The initial shock had rendered me numb, but now the flesh ripping away from flesh, the blood flooding onto the bathroom floor, losing myself through the gashes...

It was very quick. I was brought to the Hospital Wing, where Snape's expression kept Madam Pomfrey from saying a word. Instead, I was bandaged and put to sleep. Before I did, I splotched some of my blood onto my diary, hoping that I wouldn't be forgotten, and that this wouldn't be forgotten. Morbid but necessary.

Pansy has been talking to me again, so we must be on proper speaking terms for the first time in months. Apparently I am a new source of joy, and the vines have been ringing with whatever details I can supply her with. I don't think we have any sort of relationship, though. I already broke that. I won't bother trying to fix it, either, for I have more important things to repair,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

May 19, 1997

Dear Journal,

Gryffindor won the House Cup. No surprise there, eh? But the little joy they have obtained won't last for long.

Amazingly, I'm nearing an answer. Breaking seems to be the way to go about fixing. Isn't that a quaint idea? Sounds almost Dumbledore-worthy.

I have only recorded a small percentage of descriptions of those long, restless, futile nights in the Room of Requirement, so perhaps the effect for you is not nearly as momentous as it is for me.

The next time I write to you, it will all be over.

Soon, I will be free,

Draco Malfoy

* * *

May 25, 1997

Dear Journal,

This is not recent news, but I did not recount it to you before, so I'll tell you about it now. When I returned to the common room, Madam Pomfrey having pushed me out of the Hospital Wing, what sight greeted me? Pansy wrapped up in the arms of Blaise Zabini.

What happened to the Pansy I knew? Sure, she wasn't perfect, she was pretty dumb sometimes and a gossip-monger to say the least, but she had never been a _sl**_. And Blaise? I could never remember her even talking to him before.

I suppose she has changed as much as I have. Why should it be so surprising?

Draco Malfoy

* * *

June 20, 1997

Draco Malfoy,

It's fixed! It's fixed!

Dear Journal

* * *

June 21, 1997

Dear Journal,

Wow. I mixed up the last entry quite a bit. That would be funny, but for some reason humor has utterly abandoned me. I should have known it would end up like this. Anyway, the plan went seamlessly. More seamlessly than I could ever have hoped. Until the very very end. That's when it fell apart. I remember every moment of it: I was facing Dumbledore. He had very quickly relinquished his wand. It seemed to good to be true. He said very calmly and quietly: "Good evening, Draco."

I ignored the pleasantry, instead glancing at the empty broom beside him. "Who else is here?"

"I question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"

"No. I've got backup. There are Death Eaters in your school tonight." I relished the sound of the success. Saying it meant I had not failed Father.

"Well, well. Very good indeed. You found a way to get them in, did you?"

"Yeah! Right under your nose and you never realized." For some reason, I felt as though I had run some sort of marathon. Sweat beads dripped down my face and my breath was heavy and loud.

"Ingenious. Yet, forgive me, where are they now? You seem unsupported." Speaking of support, Dumbledore himself seemed to have trouble staying up. Behind the cool words, could he be afraid?

"They met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. They wont be long," I said quickly, voicing my hope. "I came on ahead- I've got a job to do."

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy." Is that what he wanted? Why would he tell me this? Why wasn't I listening to him? There was a long pause. My wand was pointing at his chest. All it took were a few words, and a bit of the power that had consumed me when I had tried to fight Potter, or smashed my hand through the Vanishing Cabinet. Even fear might help me. Always, I had thought that if I could just get this far, I would be able to win. But it was as if I didn't even _want_ to. I tried to steady myself, but it did not work.

"Draco, Draco. You are not a killer."

"How do you know!?" I challenged at the sound of my own fear voiced, then realized how childish it sounded. I was supposed to become a man today. I blushed, as much as a Malfoy can manage, and tried to say more assertively: "You don't know what I'm capable of! You don't know what I've done!"

"Oh yes, I do." He failed to respond satisfactorily to my anger, merely listing, "You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts. So feeble, to be honest, that I wonder if your heart has been really in it."

Feeble? _You_ try killing yourself, then, and see how easy it is then! "It has been in it! I've been working on it all year, and tonight-" There was a muffled yell, and my stomach dropped an inch. The only person I needed to kill was Dumbledore. Every extra was blood on my hands.

"Somebody is putting up a good fight. But you were saying- Yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible. How did you do it?" Finally! The question asked. For some reason, perhaps its Slytherin instinct, one wants to be appreciated for what one does. All of the planning and laboring had to stay clandestine; there was no acknowledgement or praise. However, I did not answer; my mind still dwelled on the fight above, willing for there to be no more casualties. "Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone. What if your back up has been thwarted by my guard? As you may have realized, there are Order of the Phoenix members here tonight, too. And after all, you don't really need help; I have no wand at the moment. I cannot defend myself." I simply stared back at him, once again trying to muster up the courage. Somehow, I never associated being not-Gryffindor meaning gutless before tonight. "I see. You are afraid to act until they join you."

"I'm not afraid!" I spat, ignoring the mocking voice in my head: _denial, denial_. "It's you who should be scared!" But would that make it easier? Is hunting a fleeing deer easier than one whose huge brown eyes consume you?

"But why? I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe... So tell me, while we wait for your friends: how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it."

I was repulsed by my weakness. The innocent. Easy. Does he think I haven't thought this far? Does he think that deep down, I didn't know that I couldn't do it alone? Bursting into tears and running to Myrtle was not an option. Waving a white flag was not an option. And he had asked that tempting question, so my pride rose above the confusion to start explaining and fill the silence. "I had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one's used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year. "

"Aaaaah. There is a pair, I take it?"

"The other's in Borgin and Burke's and they make a kind of passage between them. Montague told me that when he was stuck in the Hogwarts one, he was trapped in limbo but sometimes he could hear what was going on at school, and sometimes in the shop, as if the Cabinet was traveling between them, but he couldn't make anyone hear him. In the end he'd managed to Apparate out, even though he'd never passed the test. Everyone thought it was a really good story, but I was the only one who realized what it meant," I paused, my breath running out. "Even Borgin didn't know. _I_ was the one who realized that there could be a way into Hogwarts through the Cabinets if I fixed the broken one."

"Very good. So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you. A clever plan... A clever plan, and, as you say, right under my nose."

Despite the task of murder on my shoulders, I somehow took comfort from his approval. "Yeah! Yeah, it was!" Such a child, waiting for a pat on the back.

At his next words, however, my momentary and nonsensical euphoria melted away to whence it came. "But there were times, weren't there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the Cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace bound to reach the wrong hands, poison mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink-" _Badly judged_? _Crude_? Who is he, Snape?

"Yeah, well, you still didn't realize who was behind that stuff, did you?" I retorted futilely; all he said was the sobering truth.

"As a matter of fact, I did. I was sure it was you."

"Why didn't you stop me, then?"

"I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders-"

"He hasn't been doing your orders, he promised my mother-"

"Of course that is what he would tell you, Draco, but-"

"He's a double agent, you stupid old man, he isn't working for you, you just think he is!" Why I should offer him such a piece of information I do not know. It doesn't matter, though; he would be dead momentarily.

"We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape-"

"Well, you're losing your grip then! He's been offering me plenty of help- wanting a bit of the glory, wanting a bit of the action: 'What are you doing? Did you do the necklace? That was stupid; it could have blown everything.' But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement, he's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over and he won't be the Dark Lord's favorite anymore! He'll be nothing compared to me, _nothing_!" I spoke the last words with relish.

If only Dumbledore could show any response, any more life than he had. It was like he was already dying, and I hadn't even done anything yet! "Very gratifying... We all like appreciation for our hard work, of course. But you must have had an accomplice, all the same... Someone in Hogsmeade, someone who was able to slip Katie the... ahh. Of course, Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?"

"Got there at last, have you?" but I was stopped short by the suffering elapsing below. An ear piercing shriek reached my ears, and did not fall pleasantly on them; instead, it set my whole body in motion. So much cruel pain and crueler death, and I was going to have to add to it.

"So Rosmerta was forced to lurk in her own bathroom and pass the necklace to any Hogwarts student that entered it unaccompanied? And the poisoned mead- Well, naturally, Rosmerta was able to poison it for you before she sent it to Slughorn, believing it to be my Christmas present. Yes, very neat. Very neat..." Finally! Instead of all of this 'clumsy' and 'foolish' and 'badly judged' rubbish, finally someone appreciates my work. "...Poor Filch would not, of course, think to check a bottle of Rosmerta's. Tell me, how have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored."

"Enchanted coins. I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages-" It was surprising that my voice was steady when my body suffered from such violent tremors.

"Isn't that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore's Army used last year?"

"Yeah," I smiled, not for any feeling of happiness, but at the irony of how his friends had so contributed to his downfall. "I got the idea from them. I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger, as well, when I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognizing poisons-"

"Please do not use that offensive word in front of me."

I gave a laugh in the same category of the smile; it had no relations to my feelings or the sense of doom that loomed over me like the green light of the Dark Mark. "You care about me saying 'Mudblood' when I'm about to kill you?"

"Yes, I do. But as for you being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now. We are quite alone. I am more defenseless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you haven't acted..." My self-repulsion flitted across my face, wiping out any remnants of the morbid laugh or smile. Two things Slytherins despised/feared most: weakness, and others knowing that weakness. "...Now, about tonight. I am a little puzzled about how it happend. You knew that I left school? ...But of course. Rosmerta saw me leaving, she tipped you off with your ingenious coins, I'm sure."

Ingenious! "That's right," I said. _Ingenious_, that's the word I've waited for. "But she said you were just going for a drink, you'd be back-" Once again, I wdas interrupted; was it possible that he, too, was losing his cool?

He mumbled something unintelligible, and then raised his voice to speaking level to ask, "So you decided to spring a trap for me?"

"We decided to put the Dark Mark over the Tower and get you to hurry up here, to see who'd been killed. And it worked!" A bit of triumph crept into my voice.

"Well, yes and no... But am I to take it, then, that nobody has been murdered?"

"Someone's dead." My voice cracked and I felt instantly ashamed at my own feelings, but I was past helplessness now. Somehow, it was much more wrenching to recount it than it was at the time of occurence. "One of your people," as I half-hoped, "I don't know who it was, it was dark. I stepped over the body. I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, but your Phoenix lot got in the way-"

"Yes, they do that." I didn't say anything. My stomach had dropped to the floor over my last words. I stepped over a corpse, and I didn't even care. Only now I did, but then I didn't care to see who it was or check their pulse. "There is little time, one way or another. So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"My options," I exclaimed at the absurdity of this statement, and then hurried on with the act, slightly flustered "I'm standing here with a wand- I'm about to kill you!"

"My dear boy, let's have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

_My options_, I thought, shaking my head slowly, suppressing tears. "I haven't got any options! I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position. Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort" I flinched visibly, though still shivering, "realized that I suspected you. I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you. But now at last we can speak plainly to one another. No harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky your unintentional victims survived... I can help you, Draco."

The magic words. Everyone thought they could _help_ me. In the nightmare I described about Atlas and the Sky and the Earth which wasn't a nightmare at all, Pansy had always said that, and then Myrtle. I shook more than ever, knowing somewhere that the time would come soon. "You can't help me!" _I wish you could_. "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

"Come over to the right side, Draco," _We have cookies,_ I thought wryly, " and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order of the Phoenix to your mother tonight to hide her, too. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban," _safe and Azkaban are two words I would never compare_, "When the time comes we can protect him, too... Draco... You are not a killer."

Somehow, there was magic in his assurance. I had bared my heart to him, and his offer had stood that. His offer stood the Dark Lord. But did I even _want_ what he offered? I would hide. No one on the 'right side' would ever trust me, or like me. I'll be an outcast. No one will appreciate what I've done; instead, it will be a cause for aversion that I got so close. On the other hand, if I could just do the deed now, permanently deny the offer, I'll be at the top of the food chain. All will respect and trust me. Everyone would be safe anyway. I began to speak slowly, wondering if my reasoning was sound enough for words. "But I got this far, didn't I? They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here... and you're in my power... _I_'m the one with the wand... you're at my mercy-"

"No, Draco. It is my mercy, not yours, that matters now."

Shock was an understatement. I'll repeat that again.

"No, Draco. It is my mercy, not yours, that matters now."

"No, Draco. It is my mercy, not yours, that matters now."

It reverberated through my mind, and I just stood, mouth aloft, wand grip loosening until it almost dropped. Almost. Four new cloaked arrivals shoved me out of the way, breaking me out of my reverie. Amycus cackled, eagerly saying, "Dumbledore cornered! Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!" His congratulations sickened me more than Dumbledore's compliments.

In the same tone of calmness he used with me, Dumbledore greeted them, "Good evening, Amycus. And you've brought Alecto, too. Charming."

"Think you're little jokes'll help you on your death bed, then?"

"Jokes? No, no, these are _manners_."

"Do it," snarled a new, rasping voice. A voice that made me shudder and want to flee immediately, or curl up into a ball and mourn everything.

"Is that you, Fenrir?"

"That's right. Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?"

"No, I can't say that I am."

"But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore." Red liquid dribbled from his mouth and dripped off of his chin and he vulgarly savored its taste. I kept my head away after that, to preserve innocence (ha, ha. lost causes are just _so_ funny.) But hearing him speak was bad enough. They spoke a bit more about how Greyback was attacking off of the full moon as well, and I was brought back into the conversation. How could I ever imagine that I could escape, that being involved was anything but inevitable? I caused this.

"...Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live."

"I didn't," I breathed, hoping that he would believe me. "I didn't know he was going to come-"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts. Not when there are throats to be ripped out; delicious, delicious..." the werewolf had a contemplative moment before continuing, "I could do you for afters, Dumbledore..."

"No," Thorfinn Rowle, who had not spoken at all before this, "We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly." Suddenly horrified, I stared at Dumbledore, who slid down the wall. For the first time, I noticed how weak he was, how much he had paused in speaking, how his head rolled on his neck. _Maybe he'll die and I won't have to do anything_... but I didn't even know if i wanted him to die.

"He's not long for this world anyway, if you ask me!" cried Amycus in fiendish glee. "Look at him- what's happened to you, Dumby?"

"Oh, weaker resistance, slower reflexes. Older age, in short. One day, it might happen to you... if you're lucky."

This enraged Amycus to violence, but he still insisted on _me_ doing the killing. There was more fighting below, and Rowle joined in. "Now, Draco, quickly!" I couldn't. My arm wasn't under my control. If I said the words, it might fly over Dumbledore's shoulder or at myself. It just wouldn't stop moving. It wouldn't stop. Greyback, tired of patience, the foul creature he was, lunged for Dumbledore, but Rowle stopped him with a blast from his wand and the shout "I said no!" But their patience, all of them, was thinning rapidly, when _Snape_ burst in.

Amycus was quick to supply,"We've got a problem, Snape. The boy doesn't seem able-"

But Dumbledore's soft voice eclipsed all else. "Severus..." Snape walked forward, shoving me out of the way. Everyone drew back; something about him was terrible and frightening and grave, it made even the kill-happy Amycus and Greyback recoil. Dumbledore _begged_, again, like no one would ever expect him to beg. Had he loved Snape? Was that was brought him to plead? "Severus... please..."

Snape raised his wand swiftly. I watched not the green light nor the body blast off the tower but the face as it spoke those words that I had struggled against all evening. Disgust and loathing were written all over his face. Was that what I had lacked?

My ponderings were interrupted when Snape snatched me and rushed me through the fray, announcing, "It's over, time to go!" We just ran, running, and running.

A red light missed Snape's head by an inch, and my heart skipped a beat. Snape spun around, yelling "Draco, run!"

Obediently, I did. I didn't know where to, or exactly why, but I did. Behind me, Snape dueled Potter, and heard Potter's classic "Sectum-" but apparently it was blocked, for their was no shriek of pain. And then I was too far away to hear them, or anything anymore; I had left Hogwarts grounds. Lost in a place so close to home, I was unsure of what to do. I don't know how to Apparate yet (testing just missed my birthday, occurring on April 21st). So I decided to wait for Snape. I placed a Disillusionment charm over me (it works really well if I stay really still) and took you out. I've shrunk you and stuck you on my belt ever since that Loony bird got hold of you. It was useful today; who knew if I'd ever return to the castle again?

So here I am, waiting for Snape. And finally actually thinking about him. He killed Dumbledore. I could not. Despite my b****ing about him throughout the year, maybe he doesn't actually deserve all of that s*** from me. He saved my life twice, maybe even three times. I don't know, but I think that means something. He's tried to guide me, warned me against working alone, kept me safe from Dumbledore. Maybe he's not so much of a rival or a friend as a Father. Nothing against Father himself, but he is "safe in Azkaban" and maybe that's all I really needed this year.

Well, I see Snape himself coming now. He looks pretty shaken. But hey, Dumbledore's been fixed for good. Things can only get better from here, right?

Draco

* * *

_A/N: My longest chapter ever. By the way, at these parts, I'm uber careful not to use JKR's words for commentary b/c sometimes I read stories that are basically just JKR with different pronouns. Ick. Also, FYI, the second nightmare in the chapter entitled "Reality is Nightmarish" wasn't an actual nightmare that Draco had. He was just describing his life metaphorically.  
_

_This is a really beautiful image of the scene of "No, Draco. It is my mercy, not yours, that matters now" without the spaces: _http://www. hp-lexicon. org/images/mt/mercy-mt. jpg

_Well, morbid ending, since things don't quite get better for him in the end. But hey, next year has Astoria Greengrass in it, so fun's coming up! As well as sorrow and bad stuff. But..._

_mjmusiclover: YAY! The Lone Reviewer returns. Stronger than the greatest muse, faster than the heartbeat of a climax, and able to catch updates in a single sweep, she will save the day!_

_Of course, the day wouldn't need saving if you guys just reviewed. But oh well.  
_


	48. VII: Eye of the Storm

_Disclaimer: I do not own J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, nor would I ever claim to. However, as I enter the beautifully crafted seventh book, I cannot help but think about Draco's appearances. Once or twice in the beginning, once or twice in the end. A vague description in the epilogue. I cannot help but think about his appearances, and also feel a bit of ownership and maternal affection towards these so far forty-eight chapters that I have worked on since July 2009._

_Random Note from the author other than my heartfelt and therefore probably boring Valentines disclaimer: So, I was talking to a friend of mine, bombplaya3, about my fanfiction writing and I narrated, "So, Draco said as the last thing, like, hey, Dumbledore's dead, so things have to get better, right? And I was typing it, cackling because oh man, it is so not going to get better from here." And he was shocked and amused by my wickedness. So a little look into the mind of Loonynamelass.  
_

_Now: Bon appetit_

_

* * *

_June 22, 1997

Dear Journal,

I should not have celebrated so quickly. Just like fixing the Cabinet, the goal went further.

The Cabinet had to be mended, but it only counted if Dumbledore died.

The Headmaster died, but it only counted if I had killed him.

In the end, what does the Headmaster's death do for me? Nothing. Nothing. Father is out of Azkaban, so I suppose some good has come of it. However, the dead man's words still haunt me: "Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban."

If safe in Azkaban...

Draco

* * *

June 23, 1997

Dear Journal,

I am not at school. Nor am I at home. Instead, I am in the small, cheap box that Snape calls a home. Well, it's not as bad as I make it out to be, really, but it's quite shy of Malfoy Manor.

It's also not very homely at all. Malfoy Manor isn't either, I realize, but I never thought of it as cold or uninviting because Mother was always there, hoisting lavish gifts, satisfying all whims, and smothering me with hugs and books.

Snape, of course, doesn't do anything of the sort. He feeds himself, and every time he sees me, it's as if he's thinking "Oh. You're here, too" for the first time and hands me a plate. The food is not nearly as nice as Mother's, Hogwarts' or Dobby's. He uses very inexpensive ingredients and his meals are nothing compared to the delicate cuisines conjured for forty galleons apiece.

It is survival, though. A strange survival, too. My only company is Snape and Wormtail, and neither of them are much company. Wormtail is more of a twitchy, bumbling servant than a companion. And Snape doesn't say much, and whatever he does he does behind closed doors.

So I explore this little house. My findings? Nothing noteworthy. Life is terribly boring.

But from the stress lines creasing Snape's face, or the circles under Snape's eyes, I suspect that it could be worse.

Draco

* * *

June 24, 1997

Dear Journal,

Apparently I'm not staying here indefinitely. Instead, I will be leaving for home when the term ends. Actually, not the end of the term; the end of Dumbledore's funeral. It's depressing to think that while every student at Hogwarts has been invited, I haven't. Inevitable, of course, but somehow I never worried about what would happen after the deed was done... Anyway, until the leaving of the Hogwarts Express, this is a safe haven to protect me from students or older people from finding me.

The illogicality of this was not lost on me.

"I was seen running away with you. Won't everyone know anyway, that I'm here, at your house?"

Snape was busying himself with some tea, face hidden from view. There was a moment of silence and there was only the gentle splash and fizz of the bag sinking into the boiling water. Then he spoke. "They don't know where 'here, at my house' is."

Okay. That explains _everything. _Oh yeah, you can't see the sarcastic way I wield my quill. No matter.

The conversation ended. That's how most of our conversations go. He, caught off guard, gives a short answer. I, satisfied, as the answers are more detailed than the "This does not concern you!" as typical of Father, turn away. Life continues. I pen entries in my journal. I eat meals. I try sneaking a few bars at the piano- he never stops me, of course, but his long-suffering sighs are quite irritating and I'd rather avoid them if possible.

I'd like to rectify my last entry, though. Life isn't boring. It's just rather quaint.

Draco

* * *

June 25, 1997

Dear Journal,

I will be going home on Friday. That's the end of the term for Hogwarts students, so it's apparently safe for me to return.

Well, safe from outside forces, that is.

For the first time since we fled Hogwarts, Snape initiated conversation. "I apologize," he said stiffly, sounding as though he were not sorry at all.

"For what?" I challenged, but I knew what.

"Do not be childish or sulky. I have offered this much and will offer nothing more," the man said sharply, his strings of hair falling over his face. He's so controlled, I thought to myself. Everything he says sounds like he's at a formal gathering. Even at his home, I find it strange that he's so closed, when he's free to relax and express himself, away from his strange spy-environment, especially since the gig's up anyway.

Or maybe he's not really at home or relaxed because I'm here,

Draco

* * *

June 26, 1997

Dear Journal,

You would think, when my presence is making him so uncomfortable in his own home, that he would be eager for me to leave.

However, I overheard his voice through the door, sharp and frustrated, as though he was teaching. There were long pauses during which I heard nothing. "It is imperative that he stays... The Dark Lord will not be merciful... The boy is seventeen- Only a few weeks more than a child, and in terms of mental development still is one... I understand that you love and miss him, but... I see. Very well. You may pick him up on Saturday as scheduled. Still, just entertain me and consider my objections... You talk as though I had a choice... Someone is near the door. Wormtail needs to stop. It's a bad habit."

With this warning, I dived away, out of sight, and placed my journal in my hands and the Occlumencial walls around my mind.

He peered at me suspiciously. "Even if my abode isn't quite as luxuriously furnished as you are accustomed, surely there are better things to rest your head on than my door?" However, he did not seem angry, only muttering to himself, "You're one to talk about eavesdropping..."

I'm positive he was talking about me. "In terms of mental development still" a child? Who else would he describe in such disparaging terms? Still, I told myself I'd look at Snape in a new light now. It is difficult, though. He apologized, but it was written all over his face that he wasn't apologizing to me for taking away my own deed, my own right to the privilege of salvaging Malfoy honor.

At the same time, though, I know that I wasn't going to do it. It was the dead man's mercy that mattered.

So if he knew that it was nothing to be sorry about, why did he lie and say "I apologize?"

Ugh. He's still as confusing as ever!

Draco

* * *

June 27, 1997

Dear Journal,

Just counting down the days until I can get back home. Oh Father, how I've missed you!

Meanwhile, I'm trying to think of the ways to say sorry. The conclusion I have reached: Those two words don't mean a da** thing.

"I apologize" could mean:

He's sorry that he took away my chance to be the Dark Lord's right hand man.

He's sorry that he was constantly undervaluing me when I did indeed do the job and get the DEs in.

He's sorry that I am upset that Dumbledore died before I could take him up on his offer.

He's sorry that I am upset (or so he thinks) that Dumbledore died before I could kill him.

He's sorry for not talking to me or being interesting.

He's sorry that he's not a gourmet cook.

He's sorry that I heard his odd one-sided conversation.

He's sorry that I seem to be upset about something and it may have been caused by him.

Or, finally, he's sorry that his apologies are so f***ing vague,

Draco

* * *

June 28, 1997

Dear Journal,

Mother picked me up today. She warned me about a few things.

The first is that Father's not quite himself. He's not insane, that is. Azkaban seems to have mellowed him out a bit, as well as failure.

Then, of course, there's that other element that she remembered a few moments before we arrived. It wasn't put off for dramatic effect; no, Mother may make me do the dishes sometimes, but she's not _that _cruel. I suspect instead that she simply was afraid of the truth.

Remember, long ago, when I was speaking with Daphne (back when all the Slytherin's were friends and not divided into the Death-Eater-kids and non-Death Eater kids) and I discovered that she had a little sister known as Asteria? And then I finished off while wondering how my life would have been different if I'd had a sibling?

Well, I certainly don't have anything like a sibling, or a subordinate, or a companion.

More like a private dementor for me.

The Dark Lord is living in Malfoy Manor.

Dare I go home? ...I have no choice.

Draco

_

* * *

_

A/N: The final change in signature. From Draco Lucius Malfoy (signifying his eagerness to be as great as his father) to DLM (representing his phase of muggle-book-reading and relative innocence) to Draco Malfoy (beginning the date on which he was "born again" as a death eater. Here, he does not recognize himself as a Malfoy or a reader or a son. Like many adolescents, his search for identity has commenced, though it began on April 21st, the day that most of his peers took their Apparition tests.

Also, it has come the time that I will be creating the events of his life. There are some guides that Rowling has offered that I shan't deny, of course. But how do you like the first almost entirely innovated chapter? OH by the way, sorry about the super long wait! That has nothing to do with the fact that I'm making this stuff up. Nah, I'm just getting steadily obsessed with a new story, called Favorite, starring James Sirius Potter (a. k. a. the little one). So hopefully the wait won't be quite as long in the future, as I will at least write a chapter of Draco for every James. If you get bored, that story is always available! Alright, I'm done now. Please forgive me, as I for one have satisfactorily explained my apology.

Onward: A paragraph celebrating the coming and passing of the Vancouver Olympics, overdue review replies, and a final message-

_Hey! Who watched the Olympics on TV? I just loved the Opening Ceremony! And the winner of the women's Mogul, Hannah Kearny was just fantastic. It was absolutely flawless. And the 1500 Speed-Skating was crazy. At the very end, you've got those three South Koreans, and you're thinking that, okay, so the game is set. But Ohno and Celski are oh so close and you're like, darn, that sucks for him. And then-and then! The excitement ensues! Here's what I could glean from the slow-mo: the third place Korean is trying to secure the lead from the Americans, and he goes a bit into the interior to speed up and then he slides out, slamming into his partner and they both accelerate right into the side boards. That was really sad; they were so close, and then a little too much perfectionism and the smallest mistake at the highest speeds just kill their chances. At the same time, though, I'm really happy for Celski! He was injured so recently, told he might not even walk again, and now he's won an Olympic medal! A crazy last lap, all in all! And the figure skating was really beautiful! I was shocked when Xue Shen fell, but then she and Zhao recovered and finished so fantastically. And then Shaun White was trippin, yo! Er, well, I think that's how to put it. :S But he invented a move and showed it off even though he'd already won! And his first leap-thingy-in-the-air-bleh-flying was SO high! Yeah. And Kim Yu-na's performance was really cool, too. Then I became super busy with life again and after the first four days my entire experience was on the computer. So that was basically all I watched, except a few minutes of curling. o.O Cookies and cream to anyone who can explain that to me.  
_

_mjmusiclover: Saosin's "You're Not Alone" plays faintly in the background. Yeah, Dumbledore's dead, as the blimps would say._

_Lovealwayshopes: Yeah. Jo does this so artistically. The line that convinced Draco, that really clinched it for him, is the last thing they hear before Draco's 'options' evaporate and the Death Eaters burst in. It's cut so close, like one of those dramatic movie plots._

_Hm... am I forgetting anything? Oh yeah! Can you guys figure out Snape's weird one-sided conversation? As in: who he was talking to, how was he talking to whoever this was, and why does this not compromise their location. I don't think Draco will ever really figure it out (or maybe he will... I don't know) but I'm sure you guys can!  
_


	49. VII: For the times, they are a changin'

_I AM REALLY SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T UPDATED THIS IN NEARLY TWO MONTHS. PLEASE BEAR WITH ME AND I PROMISE I'M GETTING BACK ON TRACK. Don't abandon the Draco Diaries!_

_

* * *

_

_Disclaimer: If you can't read my mind right now:_

_a) You are a terrible Legilimancer (which was, by the way, invented by Joanne K. Rowling)_

_b) You are a muggle (which is perfectly fine and is what everyone is except for certain characters written by Joanne K. Rowling)_

_c) I own Harry Potter at Occlumency (who was, incidentally, born from the depths of Joanne K. Rowling's imagination)_

_d) You are reading the mind of Joanne K. Rowling instead, who actually does own the realm of Harry Potter._

* * *

July 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

It shouldn't be surprising, I suppose, that Father is different.

I just expected him, I don't know, to be meek. Not, this sounds worse than it is, _mad_. What do I know of human nature?

What do I know of dementors? Of dementia? Of fear?

My encounter with the dementors in Third Year consisted of me cowering about weakness for all of two seconds. Wow, Draco. Good job. You have astounded the world with your depth and compassion and strength.

The best thing about me is my hair. My eyes are tired and cold. My lips are dry. My cheeks are pale. My figure is stick-like. My arms are thin. None of the other physical features matter much. And what of personality? I am not so entirely vain that I would disregard this factor. But I have nothing to offer. Among humans, I am nothing if not average or lesser.

Bark before bite. Award yourself the airs. Feed luxury and fly past reality until it's real.

And so selfish. Even when I begin an entry about Father, I end up b*ing about myself.

Tomorrow is another day,

Draco

* * *

July 2, 1997

Journal,

La la la. La la la. Three distinctive notes. Plaintive and frightening.

Father is just so... sad. His hair was matted and grimy when we first entered the house. I was going to ask, but Mother said, "Sh... Don't disturb him." I looked at him. He didn't look like he was doing much anything at all. Just had his head in his hand. Hadn't even shaved. She calls that busy?

Everything he used to drill into my head is gone. He's forceful, but quieter and more subtle.

Draco

* * *

July 3, 1997

Journal,

Despite how it may seem, Father is not the most pressing problem on my mind at present. No- I am plagued more by the presence of a far darker spirit.

The Dark Lord, as you know, is residing in my house.

He has not called upon me yet, thankfully. The orders for meetings have been, as Uncle Rodolphus relays with a sneer, for "wizards of age only." This is even more insulting considering that I actually am of age, from a month ago. As I hide in my room most of the day, overdoing schoolwork and chastising myself for dreaming of Muggle literature, we have only crossed paths once or twice, during which moments I take great care to Occlumens with all my might. Luckily, He does not deem me much of a threat, not even bothering to try invading my barriers, not even for sport.

Luckily?- Condescendingly, that is. The Malfoys have fallen hard, with Father and Aunt Bella's disappointment and then my own in quick succession, and every day it feels isolating in my own Manor. My Father's "co-workers" vary in wealth and dignity, and many slobber all over the fine upholstery and rub their mud-caked boots on the elegant mahogany tables to clean them. We're a laughingstock, and it's very clear that being DE Headquarters is no honor but a burden.

Were we to mention that to anyone, however, t'would be to no avail. Their taunts at our decent pride would only turn to worse if we gave up the last thing we have yet.

Oh, how naive I was to miss home! This is not home.

Draco

* * *

Journal,

I wonder if the next Artemis Fowl book it out. I couldn't help but notice (or eavesdrop, I suppose) that Milly was discussing with Tracey and Daphne (at school- such trash showing up here at the Manor? Not likely) that Eoin Colfer's "The Arctic Incident" would be published soon. I would never know if it would, but I think that Artemis Fowl really is what I need. Not too deeply moralled, and the protagonist who is none too scrupulous turns out the winner. Yes, an unadmirable hero is exactly what I'd like to read about.

Still, these are but the vain desires that can pop into your mind when you hide from your own house.

...Speaking of desires...Maybe the Dark Lord won't ever summon me. Maybe I'll get off scot-free from at least Him (how will I survive the year? Not something to think of...)... Consequences are never to be escaped, though.

As I stated just a few lines above, such desires are vain.

I miss Pansy.

I miss feeling superior.

I miss that natural endowment,

Draco

* * *

_A/N: The title is a reference to popular culture. Sorry it's so short, but I wanted to get this out there to show that I have not abandoned the Draco Diaries. Eek, t'would be bad, wouldn't it?  
_

_Miss Crookshanks: There are too many chapters to count! AH!!! I think I need a professional rock-counter. Or maybe every time I get a rock, I should go outside and grab a stone and make a real collection... __"Gruffleclaw"? I wrote that? (quickly runs and checks). Oh, wow. I have such a bad memory. In my defence, it was sixteen long chapters ago... Well. Yay!...__ Oops, sorry any boy readers whom I have probably scared off. Glad you loved it though! That was fun to write. Hermione deserves to be crushed on. I think confused awkward boys are hilarious to write, and read.__._._*GASP* A Very Potter Musical?! You've watched it? That's AWESOME! It's AWESOME! *spasms on the ground for a small moment* Ehem. Sorry. A bit of fangirl-ness seeps (okay, floods) through whenever someone talks about either Roran Stronghammer or AVMP. I've managed to ignore the urge for Harry Potter for the most part, though a little well-written or insightful Luna Lovegood is enough to trigger the symptoms. Oh, uh... As you have seen, Draco becomes increasingly free with his language. Luckily it all stays behind the st*rs! Sorry about that. I just couldn't imagine much of him remaining pure after that horrible year._

_Thanks for reviewing at 3 in the morning, I'm touched! Definitely._

_Hm... mjmusiclover, this Miss Crookshanks is taking your title as "the Lone Reviewer!" Will you defend it? Are there any more challengers? *dramatic music, and the text fades away until all that is left is a button with a seven letter word...*_

_Well, it's been so long! But a few other contenders have arrived to review, both of whom I know in real life:_

_AJ: Oh dearie me! You've left, what, 16 reviews? Shall I respond to all of them?  
_

_1: Doi, I know that too, silly. I don't do this from memory! :) 2: Pansy is fairly cool in that 'omniscient' respect. JKR said she was some gossipfesty girl, right? 3: Oh yeah, whoopsies. Remind me to do that one day. When I have time to comb through everything and do revisions. When I'm basically done with the story. 4: Yeah, the GLITCH NUMBER THIRTEEN!!! rant was fun to write, though often grammatically incorrect. Then again, it's a guy writing angrily and candidly in his diary, so needs grammar? 5: Hehe. 6: You like the Dramione scene? That's like, the mushiest thing ever. 7: Well, you don't actually debate with me that much. More like we see each other. 8: Wow, you have officially disproven "Miss Crookshanks' " and my predictions on the effect of that abject, abominably mushy crush that I wrote. Wow. Just.... wow. 9: You called it! Woah, I'm so impressed *sarcasm.* But no, really, it's good to see you responding to my overly-done foreshadowing and such. Your reviews are genuine responses to my writing, as though it's literature, and I really appreciate that. 10: If "most of us would just skip," then good thing I gave it attention, right? The poor, lonely, mostly skipped idea! 11: You say "fun," but you don't know the depression awaiting you... 12: Aw, I know, babies are so cute! :) But they all have to grow up. Including fictional ones. Well, at least this fictional one. *ponders Benjamin Button*. 13: The books are rapidly becoming more serious, too. HBP is probably the worst book for Draco, if not DH. He's unprepared, so the blow of reality hits even harder. 14: LUNA! MY FAVE CHAR EVER! YAY!!! (hopefully I have more friends and am more socially competent, though). __15: I'll fix his depression, don't worry. I know it's not too creative yet, but I have a few things planned. 16: Maintenance doing well?_

_Mysterious person whose identity I know: THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for the review! Glad you seemed to have enjoyed the introduction!*hint, it gets better from there! proceed onward!  
_

_

* * *

I sincerely promise that updates will be much longer and will not take nearly as long. You'll have another chapter in perhaps a week, kay loves? And remember- reception (such as reviews) go a long way to spur on unpaid fanfiction writers!  
_


	50. VII: Before the Fall

_Disclaimer: "I wish everyone was loved tonight_  
_And somehow stop this endless fight_  
_Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days"_

_The above lines, though undeniably awesome, belong to the Goo Goo Dolls._

_The many books of Harry Potter, which I recommend reading before you venture into this story, though undeniably awesome, belong to J. K. Rowling._

* * *

July 4, 1997

Journal,

Well, here it is. The moment of truth. In six days, there will be another meeting of the Death Eaters, which will include _all inhabitants of the house_. I suppose that means Mother as well. Probably excludes the house-elves and cockroaches (only present after the filthier death eaters were welcomed to the house)

What's in store for me?

Will there be Unforgivables? Directed at me?

I know there's a reason that the Dark Lord has called me for this meeting and not any other. What might it be? My Dark Mark will be a year old- is there some kind of treatment I'll receive so it's less painful? No, it's more the Dark Lord's style to make it moreso, if anything.

If you notice the ink becoming blurred, it is because I failed to repress my shudder. One year ago, this hell began, with Voldemort digging the end of his wand deep into my left arm, gouging out a pattern, so agonizingly that I nearly fainted or died. The memory still haunts me. Just as my pride kept me conscious as the nerve endings in my limb was violently split, it kept me a Death Eater, it kept me a Malfoy.

Why don't I turn and run? It worked well enough at Hogwarts, with Snape.

I guess I'm a coward, then. Still a babe; probably why the Dark Lord refers to me as "not of age."

Draco

* * *

July 5, 1997

Journal,

Teddy's dad came today. He's staying for the big meeting on the tenth. I can scarcely hold in my excitement- by excitement, I refer to fear.

I wish he'd brought Teddy over, though. I suppose someone's family at least recognizes that school-kids shouldn't be involved in this mess.

Whoa- why did Potter just pop up in my mind?

Draco

* * *

July 6, 1997

Journal,

Four days left. This entry is a waste of ink.

Then again, I'm a waste of ink.

If not for I, perhaps the Daily Prophet wouldn't be printing lamentations for Dumbledore, elegies for Dumbledore, remembrances for Dumbledore, Rita Skeeter;s clever rubbish for Dumbledore (ooh, a familiar face)... Speaking of Rita, she seems to be doing fine without us Slytherins babbling in her beetle's ear. In fact, she's found a new confidante- "a source most journalists would swap their wands for, one who has never spoken in public before and who was close to Dumbledore during the most turbulent and disturbing phase of his youth."

Perhaps as I can't very well sneak a Muggle masterpiece in, I could settle for Skeeter? No, I don't think so- reading that the dead man's childhood was as "turbulent and disturbing" as mine may not help very much. And Rita Skeeter, her sharp deception and dirt, might leave me wishing for brighter literature pieces.

Alas, sometimes I feel the wizarding world is far too dark and droll.

Ignorance is bliss, they say- couldn't I be a Muggle instead?

Draco

* * *

July 7, 1997

Journal,

Do Muggles even have wars? Do they have Avada Kedavras and torture? Do they even have cruelty?

I don't think so. Maybe in the Muggle world you can die from a papercut, but you can't murder from mispronunciation.

I wish I had some spellwork to occupy my mind with, but I finished and refinished my homework long ago.

And if the Dark Lord keeps me busy, I suppose I'd be better off bored.

Draco

* * *

July 8, 1997

Journal,

Father and I had our first actual conversation today. He put numerous wards on the door, including a new one, _Muffliato_.

"Where'd you learn that?" I asked, the spell sounding vaguely familiar.

"Professor Snape," answered Father. Ah, yes, that's where I must have remembered it from. I did spend quite a bit more time with Snape than I ever intended, these last few months.

"Won't it be suspicious, putting up all of these wards?"

"No," Father said, sighing heavily. "No one bothers to frequent this corner of the house much. That's why we chose it, nearly two decades ago."

Were they talking about my birth or the first fall of the Dark Lord? I held my tongue, though, remembering that Father is a far more particular and private man than Snape, if possible. Well, I can understand if people don't rush to confide in me. The deferential silence prompted Father to speak.

"Draco, I have been absent for a very important chapter of your life," he began. "I'd like to rectify that."

I nodded, mumbling, "It's not your fault you were thrown to the dementors." Usually I wouldn't be so free with him, but for some reason his new countenance had startled away my own personal wards.

He winced at the last word, and I regretted mentioning it. Why hadn't I left it behind? He obviously wanted to. "Placing the blame is a very difficult task these days." Even though he was acting so strange, it kind of made me feel closer to him. Or maybe that's only because we were both reluctant death eaters. Huh, that's strange. Father, a reluctant Death Eater? Azkaban changes people, I suppose.

"Anywhere but yourself."

"Hm?" he asked absentmindedly. "Continuing, then, with my original line of thought." A stern look here, which offered a bit of familiarity to his irreversibly aged face. "Has Aunt Bellatrix taught you Occlumency?"

"Yeah," I said. It had never seemed very important to me; the Dark Lord never even bothered trying anything, after all.

"Can you employ it well?"

"I could block Snape," I blurted, with no small amount of pride shining through. Habitual Malfoy pride- Don't dare diminish it! The last good thing we have left! He nodded approvingly, and my heart rose as it used to in these far and few occasions. Approval was seldom to come with Father. He disapproved of Mother's "babying," of my poor marks (which were actually a bit above average, thank you very much), of blatant impudence toward Harry Potter, of abysmal Quidditch results, even.

"That's all very good. There's something else I'd like to-" he paused, his uncomfortably wandering gaze settling with alarm at the grand clock suspended above my bed. "A later time, Draco. I must be off." With a familiar grace and sharpness, he swung out of the door.

The visit left me more confused than anything. So Father was more distant but less distant. It makes no more sense on paper than in my head. Both of us have undergone a time of hardship and change, and we have both emerged different, and now we both know the other less and trust the other more. Does that make us more similar? I may be but seventeen, as the assorted Death Eaters swarming impudently around the house never fail to remind me, but there are some times, like now, that I feel much closer to fifty.

Another thing- he was concerned about Occlumency, meaning that we would probably need it more now. Is there something we are concealing from the Dark Lord?

Do we dare?

Draco

* * *

_A/N: To explain the title of the chapter, think of it this way: "_____ comes **before the fall.**" To quote MagicEye, now you see it? Also, did you notice the reference in the chapter to how we have reached **HALF OF A HUNDRED CHAPTERS**?!  
_

_AHA! I updated on the same day! (To make up for the lameness of the last chapter). More will follow, I promise. I want to finish the story before it's first anniversary, right?_

_mjmusiclover: Yay! Sticks and stones can break my bones, but I love them anyway!  
_

_AJ: Remember, Draco has only read the FIRST Artemis Fowl. And if you remember the Arctic Incident, then you'll know that it isn't anything like he's expecting. No, I am not TIRED. *grr...* He is fairly meek and cowardly. He's finally understood that these are the "big boys" now. He's mad that they're treating his house like dirt, as you might be able to tell by his scornful descriptions of them, but his, not just fear, common sense makes him reluctant to confront these characters. Think Yaxley or Greyback or Dolohov. Would _you_ say anything if these kinds of people walked into your house? I mean, it's lucky for them to not harm the Malfoys in any other way. Then again, they probably suspect that the Dark Lord would not condone physical harm to the Malfoys, whatever else they've done wrong. Speaking of Voldemort, he's very foolish to presume that he can treat the Malfoys like dirt from now on. This will backfire on him. And Lucius will NOT be taking a backseat in Draco's seventh year, definitely not!_

_Now you guys have TWO chapters to read, after two months of laziness. I'm going to certainly hurry up in the chapters now. After Favorite, I'm much better at getting chapters out and really utilizing my creativity, so perhaps the break is the best for us all. Toodloo!_

_and REVIEW!  
_


	51. VII: Half of the Beginning

_Disclaimer: This is actually one of the few chapters which actually coincides with a DH scene. "Charity" mean anything to you? Read on..._

* * *

July 10, 1997

Dear Journal,

Oh sh*.

I never was one to take Muggle Studies, as you might have noticed, but... I don't know. It's sort of conflicting.

So, duh, I couldn't kill Dumbledore. But that didn't necessarily mean that I didn't oppose the death of a person in general. I just didn't feel ready to take life into my own hands. That's for older, wiser people to decide... Yes? So why should watching someone die bother me?

Well, there is the idea of having to observe this gigantic snake eat a human, however despicable or radical that human's beliefs may be. Imagine with your journal-sized imagination this huge, undulating body, perhaps a metric ton dropping onto your dining table and slithering slowly, purposefully, in a small zigzag pattern... approaching it's prey, the tension high because it moves oh-so slowly, yellow eyes sliding side to side at you and at others as though it's surveying dessert. And then it's mouth cracks open engulfs, not all of it, but the feet. Just the feet. But rather than ripping that off, the monstrous reptile- the emblem of the house I am so proud to be in- swallowed and wraps it's mouth higher, around the woman's legs, her skirt riding up. It's a long way for the Dark Lord's pet to consume the body, unspeakable hours in which Slytherin self-restraint was all that kept me from reeling in horror, my pale face paler and my eyes wide with gore. When it's done, odd bulges in the snake's body evidence the meal, but this does not impede it as it slithers back to its master. Bones crack, but my shudder is repressed. Instead, my mouth quivers, and the Dark Lord is pleased by the undisguised terror he reads in my mind.

Recalling Father's warning, I shakily put up my shields and feel infinitesimally better. I'm a natural Occlumens, whatever else I may excel at. Compassion, fear, and other weaknesses- I reiterate: I feel minutely better with my shields on. It goes beyond blocking others out of my mind. It's about blocking myself out, purification.

It doesn't work entirely, of course. Occlumency is no perfect art. I am still disgusted, still pained by the scene I witness.

I ought to start at the start, I suppose.

So my family assembles at our own table as though we are guests. I notice that the other furniture has been cast onto the walls to make room for this table's slight enlargement. Oddly enough, Father does not make an involuntary movement towards the head seat- he must be used to a subservient role around the Dark Lord. This is not the first meeting. There is the unconscious body of a woman spinning in the center of the table, as though suspended by a rope, who vaguely stirred some memory but I couldn't place it yet... Mother sits at Father's left, I at his right. I seek comfort in his sunken gaze, his yellowish, weary cheeks, but he makes no movement or gesture of enlightenment. I settled at the notion that I would only have his advice of 48 hours ago to follow- very well, since I had spent that 48 hours fervently practicing my Occlumency shields. I do this in a very peculiar way when I am alone- I did not want to ask Aunt Bella, for with the Dark Lord around she is frightening. Though she is family, I cannot bring myself to trust her. So instead, I take a sharp toothpick and prick myself on my arm- not the Dark Mark, that would be far too daring, of course- but to feel pain and then I block as much as I can, until my shield is completely up. Then a little more, and a little harder to keep up the shield. This I do because I doubt that I'll need my Occlumency lying on a soft mattress and pillows.

Only a little while later, the Dark Lord arrives on the scene from below our house, the levels that I have never cared to venture in, and sits at the head, a dark silhouette framed by the handsome fireplace. Soon, we are all present except for two empty chairs, one to the Dark Lord's immediate right and another next to Mr. Dolohov, a Death Eater in similar position to Father, except the Department of Mysteries battle was not nearly as damaging to his "street cred," one might call it. He seemed to be far more devoted to the Dark Lord than Father, one of the original Death Eaters that went to school with the Dark Lord (imagine that! a teenager) and going off to Azkaban for him TWICE. Yeah, so once isn't good enough for the Dark Lord. I wonder if the Dark Lord would sing the same tune if he had to go to Azkaban... Of course, dementors probably don't affect him at all. That would just be His style, leaving dementors starved and boggarts confused and thestrals fearful... and Death himself shies away. But I'm getting carried away (and not by Death) (yet)... I suspected the seat near the Dark Lord to belong to Snape, but I was doubtful. Perhaps Snape was doing super-secret-spy-stuff. But then again, how could he remain an effective spy after Dumbledore's death? The death was all over the news, and a fair few knew it was by Snape's hand (though some others are parading the rumor that Potter is behind it. I don't know what they're on. Muggle marijuana? Firewhiskey? Even in my less _admirable_ acts, Potter gets the spotlight. Well, what could you expect?)

As we wait for whoever we wait for, I wonder about the issue of our descent. We are supposedly fallen, and yet we are the host of the Dark Lord, and we are still in His inner circle. Or perhaps that's only because we are the richest of his followers, I conclude as the late visitors finally arrive, windswept.

Their arrival is announced by loud conversation. "News?" said one voice, vaguely familiar from past Death Eater meetings. And the other, the unforgettable silky tone: "The best." "Thought I might be late," the first says, "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope He will be satisfies. You sound confident that your reception will be good?" Confident, yeah, did you just hear that arrogant 'best'? Am I still bitter? There was a bit of silence. Snape does not speak again, so that I wonder if my identification was premature. The other continued, scoffing, "He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks..." So yes, I suppose it is largely our own wealth that pins us to our seats as the two enter the gates, through the lavish hallway, past the portraits of Malfoys passed, to the door of the drawing room. We hear the pause, but the heavy door is wrenched open by, yes, the silent Snape.

"Yaxley," the Dark Lord names this Death Eater, and I recall his presence on the nightmarish night of Dumbledore's death. (Ha, foreshadowing in life.) The high but never boyish voice never fails to startle me. "Snape. You are very nearly late. Severus, here," I was correct! "Yaxley- beside Dolohov... So?" He asks of Snape.

Then Snape spills some juicy info about the whereabouts of Harry Potter: traveling openly on Saturday's nightfall, without the Ministry's help. He annoys Yaxley by being more correct in his gatherings and with a snobbish "I assure _you_, Yaxley..." So anyway, Harry Potter's positioned is ascertained and we move on to other businesses.

Oh, but before we do, the Dark Lord orates a deeply profound monologue: "I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be." From the lower levels of the house in which I never wander (how my curiosity regrets that now), a wail is sounded, and Wormtail (who's about as aesthetically appealing, useful, and intelligent as one) is sent to "keep our prisoner quiet," taking the duty bravely on with a "Y-y-yes, M-my Lor-rd."

But the exchange causes me to wonder. Potter. Harry Potter. Another 17-year-old caught in this war, this war of older men, greater men. Were there people who talked of me, or my friends, or my parents in this matter? "I must be the one to kill Draco Malfoy, and I shall be." It's not completely arrogant, right? I did basically lead to the death of their champion, Albus Dumbledore, though often I don't like to think of it... Well, perhaps I just don't like thinking in general, because it's really all that I can think about.

Potter- far too young, just as I?, but the other side. Is it different there? Likely. From what I've seen of the muggle-loving Weasleys, mudblood patronage does not make for a wealthy livelihood. But as a 17-year old, could we perhaps be the... same? Well, I'm better in intelligence and other important matters of characterization, but... in this war, we are both, undeniably, simply far too young.

Except! maybe Potter is rising to the challenge. Am I? I can't tell. What does it seem to the exterior? I've nearly killed a man. So far, I have not yet entirely failed a task given to me, and I have shown useful ingenuity. Am I a success? Have I risen to this challenge? Before tonight, the fear always encompassed me, but now it almost seems something to revel in. Perhaps I have not failed myself or my manhood. Almost. I cannot forget, and refuse to forget, for the sake of... of I don't know what..., the death of Charity Burbage. The sickening sensation of the rush of death.

Professor Moody (actually, it was deranged Death Eater Barty Crouch Junior) had showed us the Avada Kedavra, but any possible tension had been erupted by the admiring gasps of my peers, especially Pansy, who hated spiders. And in any case, I had closed my eyes to the green flash, and now that kind of liberty was not an option. Now, though, the thud of the body on the floor, an actual human- as female as Pansy and as soft skinned as myself and as pale in death as Father in life- fallen to my dining table (if the war ends, will I ever be able to stomach eating on this table ever again?)

Oh my. Once again, I have gotten sidetracked. I want to recall everything perfectly. Even if it is horrible, this business is now a part of me, and I'll see through it to the end- or my end. *shudder* My end is not something I'd like to think about.

Ugh. I'm obviously far too tired and rattled to recount anything logically. It's been a long night- halfway from midnight to dawn, I believe. I suppose that means the date is wrong, but whatever. Time for bed.

If I don't have nightmares, of course.

Draco

* * *

July 11, 2010

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord isn't done with me yet. Oh, and did you notice I put the dear back in front of journal for both today's and yesterday night's entries? I figured I might as well hold you dear, for other warnings Father gave me today.

I was a bit surprised to see his willowy figure stepping through the door again, as I opened up my journal to finish recording last night's events.

"Draco," he said, in a tone that I could not recognize and matched it slightly with the authority he dons for admonishment. "What do you write in that?"

"Er..." I said, first thinking that there was far too much to answer, and then, as I raked through the memories, deciding that I didn't quite want to tell him. Tentatively, I supplied, "...Everything?"

"My last conversation with you?"

"Yes."

"Hm." There is a moment of silence. He has the upper hand, as is customary for Father. He knows where this is going. I do not. As is customary for Father, again. "I daresay there's more to it than that?"

"Yes, Father." After seeing him as a Death Eater, not full-fledged and fighting, but still consorting with the Dark Lord- shaky from Azkaban, nervous, his power stripped from him by the Dark Lord's sheer superiority... I felt a bit distant. Formal. Delicate. So much I wanted to say, but I thought that should not be said from I to him. It was not appropriate, plausible, or possible to voice my mixed thoughts.

"What would happen if it was found?"

I immediately thought of Luna Lovegood, but thought it best not to use her as a sane instance. Also, Father seemed nearly angry for the first time since his return. And this quieter man seemed much more menacing. So, not mentioning her, I said... "I put some charms on it to conceal the contents."

"May I see it?" It was not a question; it was a command. The meeting had changed us, again. He was more cautious, I was more cautious. I cautious because he was; and I did not know his reasons. This was the way things were with Father. Or at least, the way things used to be. This time, though, I suspected that all would come to light.

In his hands, he opened it to the first page. It was blank, as the charm dictated. He shook it, and a small purple spark flew out of the book- the writing had been revealed. "How did you-" I started in amazement, but my mouth snapped shut when his opened.

"Not how. Why. Why is it so simple for me to peruse the contents of this... diary you've written a novel in? Why is it so available if it contains the transcript of our last meeting in it?" he demanded, but this was not rage. This was fear.

"I'm sorry, Father." I quaked a bit, wondering what would happen for this bout of foolishness. To my astonishment, rather than further rebuke he plunked beside me.

"Take out your wand."

...Alas, once again I weary of the entry. Perhaps my attention to detail is tiring you as well. But I must retire again. Another meeting tomorrow night, and if I'm to finish penning my entries I really mustn't sleep in too late.

Your lazy keeper (but always handsomely fit!),

Draco Malfoy

* * *

_A/N: It's a few days late, but I've put in a Herculean effort- see how long it is! :) I tried to reinsert some of Draco's arrogance here. He's somehow appropriating himself to the circumstances, just as Harry does in this book to living in the woods. Also, sorry about how only half of each scene was written. It was getting late and I really really wanted to send this... so I figured that if I'm tired of typing, Draco's tired of writing. Therefore, he could certainly leave a few elements out of his recantations. You know, I'm not sure why, but I have an urge to use the word **juxtapose**. I think I'll find a way to include it in the next chapter.  
_

_My dear reviewers, a beloved group you could easily join with a few cost-free, no hassle minutes by clicking the review button..._

_AJ: The blank wasn't really a puzzle. It's a common axiom: **Pride** comes before the fall. I just put the blank so then people would know which part of the sentence I'm talking about. And yes, Draco is going to stir slightly out of depression, at least in his journal's eyes. He's getting through it. His persona is fighting back, just a little bit. A tiny bit._

_Miss Crookshanks: I wouldn't actually be so hasty as to generalize Draco into "misunderstood." He is fairly well understood in a lot of cases. He's a petty, unpleasant, and self-centered child whose head's turned the wrong way. I wouldn't say that I'm really going to add too much worse than the lot JKR's already given him in DH. That can qualify as a bad experience with the Dark Lord in itself. The point is not that he's a good person, but that he's not that bad. I do love writing about him, of course. Why else would I still be here, 51 chapters later, if I didn't like it?_

_Yeah, so people- Review. Think of Laura Bell Bundy: Reviews "GIVE ME ENERGY!" "For when I'm up late" typing up you guys chapters. So... yeah. Please?  
_


	52. VII: Look Away

_Disclaimer: __This chapter corresponds directly with pages 7 to 12 of Deathly Hallows (Scholastic version) by Joanne Kathleen Rowling.  
_

* * *

July 12, 1997

Dear Journal,

Ah, good, a pause in this crazy life. Let's see... I left off of the Death Eaters meeting right before the Malfoy-included action began. Not quite a good thing, I'm afraid.

"As I was saying," the Dark Lord says, most appropriately considering the location in the entry. "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter." The Death Eaters all wore nearly identical faces of shock, though some had progressed to states of apprehension and fear. Father merely averted his eyes downward, and I realized that he was, once again, avoiding the Dark Lord's Legilimency. Why? What had arisen in his mind that could not be seen? Remembering this, I rapidly recommenced my staring match with the rotating body suspended above, whose presence I simple could not begin to comprehend.

"No volunteers? Let's see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore." Father looked up. Defeat was not immediately apparent, and I only knew it by a strange sense of empathy to this stranger who had, in his earlier relayed message, almost presented a secret to me, reconnected our family. It was a loss for all the Malfoys- that is not empathy, then, I suppose- for its patriarch to lose his link to magic.

"My Lord?" was the simple question, and it, if anything, did ring with the aforementioned defeat. Damaged, alone, forlorn...

"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand." The Dark Lord spoke to Father as though he was too inept to comprehend the question.

"I..." Father said, before drawing courage from Mother's reassuring grasp. It was these moments that I hoped that they would get each other through this, because as far as I could tell I hadn't really been a help to them at all. Without hesitation after his wife's invisible decision, he relinquished it to his Master.

"What is it?" Why did it matter? I wondered peevishly. Would we be ridiculed for even this uncontrollable detail?

"Elm, my Lord."

"And the core?"

"Dragon- dragon heartstring." That's ironic, as my name basically means dragon (or male fowl, but I prefer not to think that way... Unless it's Artemis Fowl) and it's said that children are the heartstrings of their parents. Of course, Malfoys couldn't be anywhere near that sentimental. Where does romance go? Into the dustbin like Pansy, or a miraculous arranged marriage like Mother and Father. And arranged marriages don't quite qualify as romance in my book.

"Good," which was queer to say, as how can any wand core be good or bad? I hoped that I was not the only one in the room with this confusion, but I was frightened to let my eyes wander anywhere other than Father. As we were now the subject of attention, I did not dare allow my buzzing mind, so full of suspicions and dangerous allegations at my family (like secrets and such), to be prey to the wandering gazes of this distrustful folk. But Father I trusted, for if I couldn't do that, I wouldn't have anything left.

In the corner of my eye I saw the Dark Lord withdraw his own wand; at the same instant, Father made a small, automatic lurch as if to accept it. The Dark Lord pounced on this error, "Give you my wand, Lucius? _My wand_?" and the Death Eaters laughed syncophantically; I only heard this, of course. "I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?" a dangerous question, followed up by a dangerous answer, "...but I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late..." Not too surprising, considering that we've been a laughingstock for twelve months and Father just returned from a stint in Azkaban "...What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"

"Nothing- nothing, my Lord!"

"Such _lies_, Luciusss." Apart from the Dark Lord's impressively sustained note (the world lost a great addition to the music industry when he decided to rule the world... kidding), I was stunned. Had Father exposed himself to the Dark Lord's gaze in his conversation? Was it to gain the Dark Lord's trust? But then, how could he have forgotten Occlumency? I glanced at Father, whose eyes were firmly downward, and I simply was not able to comprehend my feeling of confusion. If Father's conduct couldn't be expected to be perfect, then what was the hope for me?

My thoughts were cut off, then, by the thud of a massive something dropping onto the ground under the table and slithering, then rising to rest on the Dark Lord's shoulders like a bizarre imitation of a pirate's parrot. With this final supporter in place, the Dark Lord continued with his deadly rhetoric: "Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desired for so many years?"

Was Father _sweating_? What happened to keeping our cover? "Of course my Lord; we did desire it- we do," he was quick to correct. Mother made a strange, jerky nod, still staring with admirable perseverance and tact at the far wall and not the horrifying creatures surrounding us. I glanced quickly at the Dark Lord, dying of curiosity for his reaction- _was Father to be believed?_- and luckily I did not literally die of curiosity.

At this challenge of loyalty, who else but Aunt Bella had to join in. Voice full of emotion, as though she might cry from it, I thought oddly, she leaned over the table, ample bosom seductively poised in this new position as she propositioned herself to perhaps the darkest, coldest, most manipulative man to ever walk to earth. Do you wonder why Aunt Bella creeps me out? "My Lord, it is an honor to have you here, in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure." _Well, other than doing the Dark Lord, for you, Aunt Bella_, I thought. But she can't say that, of course- Rodolphus is right here! Wait a hot second- no he's not. What?

"No higher pleasure. That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."

"My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!" The deranged woman nearly teared with joy- what has become of faithful marriage? Oh, whoops. Shouldn't be looking at eyes- I went back to the body.

"No higher pleasure- even compared with the happy even, I hear, has taken place with your" ew ew ew ew "family this week?" Hold on. I don't think that the Dark Lord would consider himself family... Phew.

"I don't know what you mean, my Lord." Was she also thrown off by the _family_ part, or just thrown off that the Dark Lord had dared to compare her pleasure of his presence with anything else.

His next sentence caused an outpouring of jeering jubilation: "I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud," but I was too busily in shock- I had a _cousin_? A possible companion? Was that what I had been missing? A _cousin_? While I had grown up alone than family friends- I had more to my family? What other tidbits had been conveniently concealed from me? Of course, judging my the antics described above, it surely wouldn't be wise to liaise with such a character and her sympathies, but it is certainly mind-boggling.

Aunt Bella's angry cry, so diverse from her happiness only a few moments previous, helped explain the matter. "She is no niece of ours, my Lord. We, Narcissa and I, have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries." Ah... It was _that_ sister.

"What say you, Draco?" the Dark Lord said quietly, and somehow all of my worst fears confirmed themselves in my mind. "Will you babysit the cubs?" Ought I answer, should I politely deny it, as Father had been engaging in all evening... I sought the answer from Father, but his gaze remained downward. Mother was more helpful, with a minute shaking of her head before straightening her gaze to nowhere in particular. "Enough, enough," He mercifully silenced the room. "Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time. You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the rest."

"Yes, my Lord. At the first chance!"

Was this the point of humiliating us, just to remind us to kill Mudbloods and muggles? Is that really necessary? Or perhaps it was merely a transition, for He then responded. "You shall have it. And in your family, so in the world, we shall cut away that canker that infects us until only those of true blood remain." And then he woke the woman with Father's wand.

Immediately recognizing her, I looked away. I could not stand it anymore; she was animate, and now she was human. "Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" He asked, prompting the woman to cry "Severus! Help me!" This testament of human suffering made me wince.

"Ah yes," was Snape's only answer.

"And you, Draco?"

What should I say? Nothing, again? I cleared my mind determinedly, shaking my head. Still, the inexplicable anguish in my chest did little to leave me.

As the Dark Lord explained Charity Burbage's identity to the Death Eaters, as a Professor at Hogwarts who taught students that Muggles "are not so different from us," the woman in question turned again, pleaded Snape again, her upside-down eyes swimming with tears- the same saltwater that had filled Aunt Bella's before her.

"Silence," and He spelled it before continuing that she had written in the Daily Prophet (must have missed the article, I suppose), that "the dwindling of the purebloods is a most desirable circumstance..." During this monologue, there was no humor in the situation, and the woman sobbed silently on. Was it remorse, or fear?

No matter. She wouldn't suffer from it anymore.

_Avada Kedavra_. And she crashed onto the overburdened table below, and I fell out of my chair in... just in. She had just _died_. I was not the only one who was shocked, but the others seemed more concerned of the table than the life. She had _died_. Even two days later, I relive the feelings. I did not like it. I did not want it. It should not happen. It had happened. This is the great cause we fight for. This is why I am a Death Eater and had to kill this woman's employer. Death must occur for us. Death eaters are what we are.

How much of the Dark Mark makes a difference to the holder?

The green light was no less shocking or scarring. The gut agony I felt was no less strong. The utter helplessness was no less unwelcome, the urge to burst into tears was no less threatening.

What was this path we have chosen?

I looked at Father. He looked at me.

Perhaps my doubts are the beginning to the answer,

Draco

* * *

_A/N: **You like the taste I leave in your mouth. You look at me, I look at you. Neither of us know what to do.** Maroon Five. This was the tune that overcame me as I wrote. Does that explain the overemphasis of the eyes?_

_Also, this must be my first one entry chapter since.... I don't quite recall. But the one entry certainly far longer than I can remember another- perhaps Dumbledore's death could rival it? There certainly is a pattern of death, then. But death is just so traumatic it kind of deserves it from Draco, right? Anyways, this chapter does have a bit of important character development and plot work; not quite necessary, but helpful. The questions will be answered soon enough... But its still only summer! And then the school year also holds some surprises; how wonderful! I'm really enjoying the writing of this.  
_

_To my reviewer:_

_mjmusiclover: Change is good, I hope? Still rocking is a good sign :)_

_I know there are various reasons as to why the review count is skim- one reviewer's computer died- yikes!- and I updated inconveniently on a Tuesday- but I still really appreciate any reviews that you can offer. I really appreciate any commentary you can give, even if you're mind is completely blank and all you can think of is **:)** or **Update** or **That was a weird chapter**. The depth of your review corresponds with the response, but it isn't a requirement. I love answering questions, concerns, predictions, and interesting observations, because it really solidifies the underlying premise that I write to as I type it all up. The wonderful thing about fanfiction is that the tale is not yet finished- it has to time to grow and live and change and improve. Optimization and all that jazz. For this ability, not only to lift an unprofessional writer's heart or bless this simple tale with your ideas, but also to express your opinions in an encouraging medium and exercise the right to it, please review the fanfictions you read._

_Thank you.  
_


	53. VII: Strange Influence

_Disclaimer: Weirdly enough, though the information Rowling supplies me with is now slim pickings, his entries are nearly daily. I'm enjoying picking up his story into my own thread; but still it must be Rowling's. Always hers._

* * *

July 14, 1997

Dear Journal,

Last day of catch-up.

Point of previous meeting: fortification. Of you, that is.

Oh, the spells that have been placed! One, an important one, I presume, is handwriting recognition software. Then, in order to read any past entries, I must pen the date in- this will trigger the check. If it gives the all-clear, the contents will be revealed.

The next is more subtle. Hand. When I grasp it, I must be sure to grasp it in just the right manner- otherwise, it'll become as fierce as a Monster Book assigned by a severely retarded half-giant professor. But that shouldn't be too difficult, as Father put it so that it especially matched my natural book-opening routine.

And the third... I don't know, actually. Just in case someone Veritaserumed or Legitimancied me, he didn't want to tell all.

Fourthly, I put a spell on it which judges a characteristic that I don't know. He wrote about twenty spells down, and told me that these were pretty top secret, other than those of the Black lineage. And judging by pureblood pattern, that includes basically all Death Eaters. Still, I ran my eyes down the list and chose one that said _Audiscodiw (n-vbl)_, and silently placed the spell. A weird, almost electrifying rush overtook my senses, sour but soothingly powerful. It was the recognized rush of Dark Magic.

I had never realized before that Dark Magic really is noticeably Dark. Doing an Unforgivable feels weird (I've done Imperius and attempted Crucio, remember?) but as they're Unforgivable, I had expected that much. It's almost like an honor. We are noble enough to fray into the less explored denizens of magic, cunning enough to abandon fear for these unopened treasures. I could already feel it take hold of me.

Father looked slightly sad at my exhilarated expression. Perhaps he's too weak to enjoy it, I though with a mental sneer. Then horror overran it and I apologized, also mentally, for my audacity.

"It is a necessary precaution," he said, as though reassuring himself. "Now no one other than yourself will be able to read it, and no one in this world knows how that's done. Yes, very necessary."

A new idea suddenly struck me. "Father?" I asked tentatively, holding you a little tighter to my torso, just in case. "Why are we going to all of this trouble when you could just..." my voice faltered, "ban me from writing in it, and wash out the ink?"

"It pleases you," he said. "It genuinely does. And that's precious, Draco." This was getting a bit weird. _It sounds like he's going soft!_ cried the fading Dark Magic remnant in my soul impudently. "Additionally... I don't want you as my enemy."

Then he swept out of the room, just as the last Dark, Slytherin urge dissolved.

And I carefully opened you, wielded my quill, and penned today's date,

Draco

* * *

July 20, 1997

Dear Journal,

Today I overheard Father talking to Aunt Bella in hushed tones. Well, his voice was low, at least- Aunt Bella knows no discretion.

"-met Potter in the Department ...trees?"

"Ah-ha, yes! Baby witty itty Potty! No match for the Dark Lord!"

"... curses ... use?"

"A few weak Stunners. And tried an Unforgivable on me, the nerve!"

"...effect...any darkness...soul?"

"Ha! No power, no heart in it at all! Ay, lamest Crucio ever I saw. Though Draco could give Potty a run for his money, I expect."

I bristled at this, but then hastily rammed my ear back to the cracks of this ancient, grand house, whose espionage secrets belong to its true residents. "...but the effect, Bella- was he untouched?" Now he was louder- closer, I had to be more cautious now... but perhaps he was a bit impatient instead, for footsteps I didn't hear.

"Oh, angry a bit afterwards. And it opened his mind up to the Dark Lord, whose greatness anticipated the weakness, of course."

"But, Bella..." the voice was too quiet again, but the last word was easy to hear, and urgent, "...permanent?"

"Only as much as a normal dark curse for a teenage boy. That means no, Lucius." She cackled, and I scampered away, realizing then that I was far too close for safety. As I scuttled back to my room, which was where I spent most of my days, a haven from the shame and suppressed frustration, I overheard her taunting tone, "Really, you were a good little boy? Little clean-shoed, clean-nosed squirt?"

For Merlin's sake, we're all family now! Don't patronize him, too. I couldn't understand it.

And then it occurred to me, for the first time, that Aunt Bella regretted her sister Cissy's decision to wed a Malfoy. Did she believe that his "clean-nosed" double-edgedness was taking her away from her beloved (once again, poor unfortunate Rodolphus Lestrange)? I certainly hadn't helped matters, with my failures. Did she think that by bringing her family into ridicule, we, the Malfoy men, had dragged her away from the Dark Lord? Did she regret my birth, too?

When this theory came to mind, it explained all of the inexplicable sour commentary she had thrown at us that confused me and irritated Father so. How dare she!

It had to be right. Suddenly, Aunt Bella was thrown into a new light. Occlumency lessons that she had described as "making those Malfoy men useful..." Trying to separate herself from the Malfoys but asserting her own independant desires at that Death Eater meeting...

Ugh! How _dare_ that cheap trick ever assume that the title of Malfoy besmirched her pride!

Draco

* * *

July 24, 1997

Dear Journal,

Father came to me with a set face today. Rather grave, in fact. Worrying. We had a very long conversation; I can't even recall the words he used, it all addled me so. It was something about adulthood (I scoffed heartily at this), making decisions autonomously, empowering yourself to an end. He also mentioned "the catalyst of war," whatever that's supposed to imply. It was so metaphorical and philosophical; too much, to be honest. Pre-Azkaban Father would never have taunted me with such figuratives. Before, he would have said something direct and clearly true, such as: "You are always greater than Mudbloods, Muggles, Squibs, and Half-Bloods. Assert your superiority, but be careful, and know your limits. There are figures of authority, such as Dumbledore, that it isn't wise to defy without permission from me, who is the highest figure of authority you'll ever meet, save the Dark Lord." Well, now that I've met the Dark Lord, Father's authority has quite confused me, and he hasn't even mentioned the aforementioned creed. I hope he's at least kept his priorities and bloodline-agenda straight.

After our discussion about adult ends and autonomy, he stated simply, "And thus, I have decided that it is imperative you learn Legilimency."

And so our lessons begin!

Today, I focused really really hard on his mind. He told me he was doing a kind of opposite-Occlumency; like closing a door so that a very specific crack shines through, which apparently takes the skill and effort of a master Occlumens. So, basically, I was supposed to receive this image/thought/concept that was being held out specifically to me.

I almost got it. I told him it seemed red. He seemed very pleased with my progress, declared me precocious, and bade me adieu.

Then I asked it- "What's this for?" Of course, it'd be dead useful at school if I could completely Legimens, but this kind of Legimens... it didn't make sense. I can only read minds that want to be read? How is that useful?

"For private communication, of course." He turned back to the door, but I again interrupted his retreat.

"But this is private."

"Not private enough."

And with that reassuring, self-explanatory, entirely direct and specific explanation, he left me there. That was sarcasm, by the way. I wanted to make sure you knew that, in case you were thinking I was an idiot. But of course you weren't. How could you think that- I've owned you for all my life, haven't I?

Well, actually, not really all my life.

I've known Father far longer than you.

But I don't know him at all,

Draco

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Wow. Summer's never lasted this long, as far as I remember. Draco writes in his journal a lot now that Jo isn't guiding him. What a paradox! Unless this speeds up, I may not be able to finish this story in a year (it's anniversary arrives on July 5th!)_

_I've started to really focus on Draco's character development. No, he's not going to become totally good. That's not possible at this point, because there are integral events at the Battle of Hogwarts that indicate that he's still unhinged, still confused. He doesn't understand his father anymore, and I'm really going to bring in Lucius a lot more. Some father-son moments, if you will. I've still got some important twists to their relationships that I'm planning out, one of which I've had in mind since the beginning of these Diaries. _

_Also, I'm inventing a little magic. Well, Dark Magic did exist before, but here I'm starting to explore some magic details. Harry gets his depth-ified knowledge of wandlore in seventh year. For Draco's advanced magic, I'm looking more at how spells leave their residue. After all, what would be magic without an aftertaste? Just as power can corrupt, magic transforms... Well, no more details from me. Tell me what you think about the idea.  
_

_mjmusiclover: The role of Death Eater for him was a lot for his family, but he took it upon himself originally as a rite of passage to adulthood. The reason Draco reiterates his original specifications for being a Death Eater is that it is contrasting with a lot of new things that are coming into play- emotions that he's having difficulty sorting out and stifling, and strange hints from his family that they aren't exactly walking that path anymore. Haha, Bellatrix. A horrible person, a brilliant character. Cow is a bit too subtle? Chewing, mooing. No, Bellatrix must be something of a more violent nature. Like a nacho._

_**So, although computer problems have been bothering some of you poor dears, I'm sure there are some of you who can manage a little review!**  
_


	54. VII: Utility

_Disclaimer: Part of the scene in August 1st's entry's dialogue is from Deathly Hallows. As always, this story is canon-compatible, meaning a lot of it belongs to J. K. R. However, I take pride in rewording and reworking the books to Draco's perspective, and thus feel a little as though these stories- not Harry Potter's, but the words I have chosen to describe was I have decided to occur- could be a bit mine as well.  
_

_

* * *

_

July 25, 1997

Dear Journal,

Father is giving me daily lessons. They are very clandestine; he even uses a time-turner he snagged from the Department of Mysteries to gain back the lost time (he then hid it in his robes before they dragged him off to Azkaban… but it held little relief, as going back in time would only cause him to wallow in agony for double the time). His excuse to the ever-present ever-busybodying ever-impossible Aunt Bella when she finds him entering my room for a small second? "I'm checking on the boy. He spends all of his time cooped in that da*ned room, potentially acquiring asbestos or all sorts of unseemly diseases. Complete association with inanimate objects is acutely unhealthy, as you'd know very well."

"What's so valuable about him that he warrants leaving service to the Dark Lord for even a moment?" Her voice was laced with scorn and suspicion, as though she was condemning him for joining the Order of the Pheonix and not checking up on his son.

"You may recall, Bellatrix, the Dark Lord's specific orders pertaining to him. He wants Draco in good health."

She grumbles in response, and leaves him be for a moment.

Though Bella's usually on Father's case, I overheard another objection- this time, Aunt Bella's sister, also known as Mother. "Lucius, are you certain that this is necessary?"

"He is our son."

"Draco is just a child; we mustn't endanger him like this! It's better if he doesn't know."

"I'd rather not leave him in the dark. We are a family, and lies will only inspire bitterness and separation..." A tired sigh from Father, and he looks very very old as he tenderly gazes at his wife. His voice is gentler when it resumes, "He is of age, at any rate. My decision is final, Narcissa. He is already involved. This way is safest. This discussion has ended."

She returns to her servantile wife status, as is befitting of the Malfoy women, but it's starting to seem more like they're partners at this point. I'm so confused at this point; I don't even know who the facade is for. The Death Eaters? The Dark Lord? Father? ...Or is it me?

Draco

* * *

July 31, 1997

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord has ordered me to see him. This could be interesting.

Draco

* * *

August 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

Why did I say interesting?

"Hello, Draco." Though the words were jovial, the Dark Lord's face, as always, was drawn. In his hands was a small yellow candy… was that _muggle_ candy? The long spider-fingers nimbly unwrapped it and tossed it into his mouth, which began to chew slowly, deliberately. I couldn't help comparing myself to the sweet, but I could help shuddering at the thought.

Why did I say interesting?

"My Lord," I said reverently, conjuring up an image in my mind's eye of Father serving him as a model. If only my memories of their interactions didn't include humiliation and abashed subservience! It was aggravating… He finished chewing.

"I still have difficulty evaluating your recent escapades for me. Its level of success evades me." _How so_? I almost said, but held my tongue. The bastard was dead, wasn't he? "You did get my Death Eaters into Hogwarts Castle, which I did not perceive possible. However, that was not your task. And the ultimate conclusion is, although you did manage to complicate a very simple assignment and produce surprising results, Severus Snape murdered Dumbledore."

I tried to keep my face neutral, keep my shields up. If begrudging Snape was a weakness, then the Dark Lord would exploit it. I had learned from Father's memories in our lessons.

"Not you."

Prodding a dead unicorn, much? I stirred slightly, but mustered the energy to mumble, "I will do better next time, My Lord." I mentally slapped myself. Next time! No next time, please! I can't handle another mission!

"Next time?" said the lipless mouth, curving slightly into something that was eviler than a smile. "Unfortunately, some espionage missions are impossible for you now. You've lost your credibility, Draco. Your element of surprise. That was the brunt of your usefulness. And if you aren't useful…" He rolled up the empty wrapper and tossed it deftly into the fireplace. He continued to look thoughtful. "Still, you may have some other talents, hm?"

At this point, I was almost wishing that I did. He wasn't using any Imperius, but at the same time… My mouth dry, I could not find the words to respond.

"I suppose wit isn't one of them," he mused, another candy out of his pocket. Noticing that I was eyeing it, he explained, "They are called 'lemon drops.' Albus Dumbledore was fond of them. Even while he's gone, I can't help wondering what made him… tick." Behind him, the clock chimed eleven times. "Ah, already? Well, your newest assignment has arrived, Draco. Try not to fail me this time."

This time? I thought I was useless…

Apparently I had spoken aloud, for he responded, "Well, not yet, dear Draco." I hastily re-established my Occlumency. Spoken aloud or no, I could only hope he hadn't noticed my breach. Though very likely he had… "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for your parents. Here's how the stakes look. Listen closely. Your parents have usefulness for their loyalty, and for holding your loyalty. As for their loyalty- I have Lucius' wand. There is little more for me to take on that end. Narcissa is not even a Death Eater, and should she be disposed of, there will likely be little rebellion on Bellatrix's part if I can successfully convey a disloyalty. And Bellatrix is not difficult to seduce. So, really, their only bargaining power, whatever eloquences may emerge from Lucius' mouth, is you. And if you aren't useful, then the entire family is spoiled. What a shame- the Malfoys have such potential- such a lineage- pure, proud, peacocks."

So there they were; and I knew the stakes. I was listening closely, and somehow it wasn't so difficult to comprehend after hearing it before- a year before. I could remember it, and though the words and circumstances were a bit different, this time I would need no stumbling questions. I knew the stakes; I knew them by heart.

There was a very timid knocking at the door. For a moment I had mistaken it for the fearful pounding in my chest, but when the Dark Lord raised his wand, it was not at me. "Enter..." he hissed. "You are late."

Wormtail nudged the door squeakily open (I cringed inside; usually, there would never have been a hinge unoiled). Following him at wandpoint was a large colleague of Father. Or of me, actually. That was a strange thought.

"Good evening, Rowle," He said pleasantly, which is actually quite menacing from the Dark Lord. It still disturbs me that this tone is the exact same he was using on me for the entire previous conversation. "You requested my presence earlier, and thus I have set this appointment. It is unanticipated for you to be late to deliver your report, especially when I was led to believe that this involves an exchange of gold. Greedy as you are, I'd expect you to have hastened at the chime, rather than be dragged by this rat." Despite myself, I was intrigued. Gold? Either this was going to be spectacularly enlightening, or I have business with this Rowle- an apprenticeship, perhaps? Either way, there had to be an important reason that I was here to hear such news- otherwise I would've been banished. Am I moving up in the ranks? I wondered. Perhaps this entire meeting had been a sort of twisted reward for completing the task assigned to me last year, in a means-to-an-end way... He continued, and I continued to listen. "This is only one reason that I do not have very high hopes for your venture's outcome. Also, if it were success, I would have assumed you to be proclaiming your catches from every rooftop. Then again, perhaps you simply have applaudable, unprecedented discretion. I am an optimistic man. Please begin."

The man seemed to shrink at every word, his profile dark and shuddery before the bright, snarling flames. He suddenly collapsed, and my first impression was that he had fainted. Instead, however, he was only kissing the Dark Lord's robes so fervently it was as though He was a lady to be charmed.

The Dark Lord, not a lady and not charmed in the least, raised his voice and wand. "Crucio!" Rowle leapt backwards, his body twisting in horrible motions and foam flowing from his moaning, chalk-white lips. "Cease your chewing, and tell me who dared utter my name!"

I think of lemon drops as Rowle painfully crawls to a kneeling position, sweat drops crawling from his red-rimmed eyes from underneath disheveled blond hair, still twitching. "It-t was H-harry Pot-t-ter, and two friends."

The Dark Lord waved his wand, saying, "Calm yourself. What of Dolohov? I believe he accompanied you."

"He was Obliviated, sir. By this girl- couldn't have been less than seventeen or eighteen, with very messy brown hair." The crude description rang recognition in my mind. It couldn't be... Hermione Granger? "She did me, too, but I heard and deflected it without her noticing- her attention was instead on the other boy who was accompanying Potter as well."

"Why did you not attack? She could be useful hostage."

"I was Stupefied."

"So..." He spoke as though talking to a severely retarded person, and his s's became more Parseltongue-like with every moment. "Your risk was a complete failure, Rowle?" At his non-response, the livid Lord cried "Crucio!"

He writhed once again, and I did my best to isolate and discard my disgust. It seemed to be more painful this time, but I thought to myself: _It's not hurting me, it's not hurting me_, like a mantra, and I felt a slight peace in the chaos. Selfishness is what Gryffindors call mere Self-Perseverance and Prioritizing. I only wished it could be a blanket-ban on sympathy, but I could not entirely help feeling uncomfortable.

In form of distraction, I was slightly relieved of the horror- something inexplicable drew me to the Dark Lord's eyes, which had, in the light of the fire, become startlingly, familiarly green. I had met his eyes! Was that what they looked like as they sensed in me deep sickness at the proceedings? Further terror washed over me. Why was I here, just listening to a man's screams and placing my family's secrets in danger? I stared at the carpet beyond the scene, and brought the chant back: _It's not hurting me; I am safe. It's not hurting me; I am safe..._

The Dark Lord began to speak once again, his wand lowering but not his rage. "More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini?" Once again, I attempted suppressing my weakness. A thought, unbidden, sneaked into my unasking ears- _Perhaps Nagini is so large from a diet of human beings_... "Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time. You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure."

Everything else flew out the window, and I was left with my own cowardice again, my own fear, my own hate... my hesitation.

"Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"

Shaking so hard it would seem it was I who had been placed under the Cruciatus twice, I raised my wand. _Don't think. Do._ I spluttered, "Crucio." He screamed a little, didn't even move two inches from his position. There was a strange part of me that felt relief, and another that felt let-down.

"Your heart's not in it!"

My heart- my heart which knew the stakes, my heart which pumped the blood from my parents with such urgency. No! I would not be left with only such a lame organ of mine! NO! Father, help me! Confused and desperate, I raised my hand again, and tried to feel the necessary anger. But what had this man done to me?

The small shadow that seeped from my feeble previous curse whispered hints in my waiting ear. Look at this scum. If it weren't for his failure, no one would ever need be punished. There would be no Crucio! If it weren't for his incompetency, then there would be no meeting, there would be no threats, there would be no Harry Potter, and there would be no need for your family to be in danger! If it weren't for this giant blonde man's utter imbecility, there would be no need for Death Eaters, because there would be no jobs for them to do. There would be no muggles, no muggle-lovers, five manors for every Death Eater, your family would be happy, Father will never have gone to Azkaban, and-

"CRUCIO!" I screamed, furious at myself. Thorfinn Rowle no longer had an identity; he was only a demonic being, who represented all of the weaknesses in myself. I could have killed Harry Potter- why had I even wasted a moment in the bathroom? Why had I allowed him to Sectumsempra me? If I had been serious, I could have Crucio'ed him first, I could have broken him, I could have killed him, and the Dark Lord would love me, and Draco would rise above Father with Father's strange plans and discretion, and Draco would rise above Snape with his deceptive aid and protected emotions. Why was I so horrible? Why couldn't I decide what I wanted?

"Very good, Draco," the Dark Lord said approvingly, as Rowle's head lolled sickeningly on his thickset body. "You have exceeded my expectations. You may go."

I'm not sure how I made it to my room, or to my hidden diary- habit, I suppose. An alert medulla, as my cerebrum was certainly too occupied to successfully lead me anywhere.

I kept glancing at my wand. What had I just done? Tortured a man I hardly knew- and even though the force of the spell was insisting that I should be proud of my self, that I should revel in the power I held over this man- I had "exceeded expectations"! The Dark Lord would not hurt me, he was prouder of me in my thin blonde form than this giant, this giant failure! My family would not die today!

My rationalization could not entirely soothe me.

I feel sick.

I feel scared.

Don't make me do it again!

* * *

_A/N: And that's a wrap. He doesn't even sign the last one... Now, I've decided to make my A/N's more organized with boldness. Cheers for Gryffindor! (Yeah, horrible pun, I know. Bear with me here.)  
_

_Oh yeah, and about the delayed posting. I have reasons! I actually went on a long road trip (when I say long, I mean hours and hours of boredom and freeways). Watching words makes me sick, but I wrote half this chapter in the car before promptly feeling a bit ill and shutting it down. I didn't have internet either- again, we were on the road. Now, second reason- it may sound lame, but I was also occupied by an internet phenomenon known as the Altador Cup. *blushes* Hey, there are players of all ages! Don't condemn me!_

_**Excuses over****. So if you want to skip them, meander over here, for chapter discussion.** Now, J. K. Rowling once said of Draco Malfoy in an interview after the pivotal sixth book: "I thought of Draco as someone who is very capable of compartmentalizing his life and his emotions, and always has done. So he's shut down his pity, enabling him to bully effectively. He's shut down compassion — how else would you become a Death Eater?__ So he suppresses virtually all of the good side of himself. But then he's playing with the big boys, as the phrase has it, and suddenly, having talked the talk he's asked to walk it for the first time and it is absolutely terrifying. And I think that that is an accurate depiction of how some people fall into that kind of way of life and they realize what they're in for. I felt sorry for Draco. Well, I've always known this was coming for Draco, obviously, however nasty he was.__" Rowling is still a guiding force, and I always must abide to her laws as I characterize and develop. And as I'm shaping his character, I'm also trying to think of where he has to be at the end of the year, so that he'll be going after Harry in the Room of Requirement and then later he'll be wed to Asteria Greengrass with a boy named Scorpius Hyperion... So he can't become homosexual or an Order of the Phoenix spy with those kind of events in mind._

_**HEY GUYS! I HAVE A QUESTION FOR YOU!** Please respond in reviews, if you care to answer: What genre(s) do you think this belongs in? It's been General since its conception, and I feel like if I could make that description more specific it would be nice and perhaps attract a wider readership, so I wanted some ideas.  
_

_Now, to my magnificent reviewers (yes! I have a plural this time!):_

_**honorary weasley**- For one thing, I'd like to note how awesome your review was. I read it, gawked stupidly, and then gushed about it to my friends. Now, a long review warrants a long reply, so here we go. _  
_~As for your exam procrastination, I'll have to soothe my conscience a bit about that. Exams must be aced with impunity! Tsk, tsk, tsk. Hopefully you don't flunk miserably by reading this... but I don't think you will... _  
_~I am planning for a few twists in the characters of his fellow Slytherins, certainly. I also might try introducing a wider cast; it's always the last year at a school that you unknowingly branch out to meet more... I'm glad you find my characters consistent; it annoys me as well, reading a fanfiction with a specific character mirrored among all of them. There are always different reasons, different reactions, and different backgrounds, as you said in your review, that set people apart. I occasionally worry that I bend characters a bit too much- but life is so fuzzy and funny that change is constant, and different is the same as always. In conclusion: I'm pleased to know that my meddlings have emerged as distinct peoples. A really large focus in this tale is characterization, so that kind of compliment is worth a lot... _  
_~Oh yes, his sixth year- that's about when his entries became less fun to write. Not in the sense that writing lost its spark- it just became more urgent for me to mold him more. He's closer to adulthood, and his reactions are a lot more specific- he starts thinking for himself, so I have to start deciding what's his process, and such. So there were no more little jokes and "APRIL FOOLS!" and such. It's just a darker writing now... _  
_~Oh, and I was completely astonished by your use of the word "oscillates." Some of the reviews I receive are barely capitalized, and then you use such a beautiful word! I'll probably try and include that the next chapter, just to please me... And yes, it is very exciting to venture into unexplored terrain... _  
_~And as a general comment on the whole of the review, I love reviews like yours especially because they suggest and remind me of things to cover in the diaries... Because once a date is gone, it's gone. I can edit it, but there are hordes of people who won't know what it said, and loses its potential as a plot point. Thank you, and I look forward to future comments!  
_

_**mjmusiclover**- His father is pretty awesome, right? His mother is, too... but for some reason I haven't included her as much. Ah well, there's a mention in this chapter at least. :)_

_**SO** if you want to: **condemn** me for taking so long, **answer **my question, or **just be **a generous soul,** you know what to do.** And if you don't, here's a hint: **review!**  
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	55. VII: Come to Close them Doors

_Disclaimer: Let's put it this way. If I were to ever write an internationally acclaimed bestseller, I wouldn't name my protagonist Harry Potter._

_**A/N: For the 5 to read ch. 54 on before Monday (6/21/2010) morning- **After a few days, I always make tiny revisions on typos and word phrasings that annoy me... But this time, I also made a large edit to one of the passages (actually, I basically added an entire new one), for I had forgotten to include something that, well, I very much wanted to include. Thus, I'd like to call your attention to the addition (with the surrounding original text provided un-underlined for context) _

_"_Selfishness is what Gryffindors call mere Self-Perseverance and Prioritizing. I only wished it could be a blanket-ban on sympathy, but I could not entirely help feeling uncomfortable. In form of distraction, I was slightly relieved of the horror- something inexplicable drew me to the Dark Lord's eyes, which had, in the light of the fire, become startlingly, familiarly green. I had met his eyes! Was that what they looked like as they sensed me deep sickness at the proceedings? Further terror washed over me. Why was I here, just listening to a man's screams and placing my family's secrets in danger? I stared at the carpet beyond the scene, and brought the chant back:_ It's not hurting me; I am safe. It's not hurting me; I am safe..." _The Dark Lord began to speak once again, his wand lowering but not his rage. "More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini?"

_If you miss this notice, likely you will not be drastically out of the loop, but some sentiments that Draco will express in the future may not make as much sense without knowing..._

_Okay, back to the chapter we go!_

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August 2, 1997

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord intends for these lessons to be daily until school begins.

What a strange thought, to be anticipating the end of summer!

Draco

* * *

August 3, 1997

Dear Journal,

There was another meeting, this time for all Death Eaters with Dark Marks.

Rowle was not present, a very obvious absence emphasized by the vacant seat situated in its normal setting around the table. The Dark Lord made to mention to this, instead saying quietly, "As we are all present, then we shall begin."

"First and foremost, I'd like to celebrate our virtually silent assimilation into the Ministry of Magic." There was a polite golf clap at this. "We have already begun to make good at this," he continued, shoving a _Daily Prophet_ into the center of the table. Those nearest to it, including dearest Aunt Bella, let out great whoops of cheer and passed it around.

The Dark Lord continued his explanations as the fever spread. "The Ministry has really made it quite easy for us to take over. Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge will hardly take any convincing to aid our goals. She has all the faith in whoever holds the most power; and such a sentiment holds for most of the population- And with the might of the Ministry behind us- Azkaban was practically ours already, but now we can issue arrests formally, and really take control of the brunt of wizardkind- easily led sheep, one could say.

"Now, as you have noticed, the paper being passed around holds an instrumental part of our plan. Complete victory is at hand, and no muggle, squib, or mudblood will be able to turn the tide. This development divides our antagonists cleanly into thirds- those loyal to the late Ministry and the even later Dumbledore, and then those loyal to the wayward baby with a peculiar scar and luck." Didn't he call that the wrecker of all but the best-laid plans?

Father passed the paper to me, and I controlled my reaction to the huge photograph of my school rival. "WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE" the headline screamed from below a boy who looked not at all older than me, shying from the camera and face filled with anguish. With a jolt, I realized that this must have been taken at Dumbledore's funeral. There was no caption explaining the setting; I realized very well that it did certainly hurt the Dark Lord's, the Daily Prophet's, and the Ministry of Magic's credibility (though they really all come to the same now, don't they?) if anyone can recognize the scene.

But there wasn't a caption, of course.

Everything is now under the control of the Dark Lord. Everything.

So I guess we must have chosen the right side, then.

Draco

* * *

August 5, 1997

Dear Journal,

As Father's lessons are also daily, I recounted the Dark Lord's meetings to him. He seemed greatly disturbed.

"We must dispense with partial-Legilimency for now," he concluded after a moment's consideration. "It's time you learn more advanced Occlumency."

"Do you mean the slightly-open door method?" I didn't see the use of such a tactic at this point, and voiced my concern.

He frowned at my attitude. "No, we'll not be going there yet. Though I'd hope, Draco, that even if we were, you would not be so quick to discredit my experience." I glanced at the floor, slightly ashamed. If only I could shake off the lingering essence of Unforgivable! "This Occlumency prevents more than invasion. It's also addictive, in it's own way."

Ugh. Now that I'd pissed him off, he was going to take even longer to reveal it! Trying to be polite as possible, I glanced at the clock and suggested in form of innocent query, "Will it take a terribly long time to teach?"

"Not quite; this, you can practice on your own." He was, however, spurred to motion, and ordered me to sit on my bed cross-legged. Back straight, chin up, arms loose in their sockets- it was a though he were some kind of military monster, and despite myself and the indignation of the Crucio inside, I was intrigued.

"Your task is to lose sight of yourself and your own emotions."

Easier said than done? I was entirely bewildered by the command.

"Remember, it's only Occlumency. Nothing to worry about. Whatever method you go about blocking me coming in, use it." Recalling Aunt Bella's instruction, I hastened to lift my shields. "Now, test those shields. Play with them. Concentrate on only them. Lose the sound of my voice. Everything you need is inside your head. Don't listen to me anymore. In fact, these vibrations don't even exist..."

After that, I can't remember what he said. He went on with this consistent one-sided conversation for the entire twenty minutes remaining, until he saw himself enter and begin using the time turner. He shook me on the shoulder- this I hadn't been expecting, and was immediately jostled out of my trance. "I don't have much time. Practice this on your own, using different stimuli. Touch, taste, sight, smell... I want you to master them before your next meeting with the Dark Lord." That would be tomorrow, as He was out on business today. "If I can, I will meet with you again. If I cannot, I trust your intuition to tell you what you need to do with this knowledge. Goodbye, Draco. Persevere."

And with that, he left. And with this, I must practice- if it's really all as important as he says, I'd better listen.

Off to the art of ignorance,

Draco

* * *

August 6, 1997

Dear Journal,

Okay, so mastering this kind of thing is a _lot_ harder than it seems. But apparently, Father knew this.

"The point is that you can at least partially suppress your own internal stimuli. And that is what you need when you go to these torture sessions. I do not want you in pain."

"Father, I'm not the one being Crucio'ed."

He sighed, as though I were a hopeless case. Wow, thanks, that's reassuring. "There are other forms of torture. The Dark Lord is deceptive in that manner; or, at least, unknowing. Whatever the case, you must use this to block off the influence that spell has on you."

"_What?_"

"It's the same theory as a Patronus, but far simpler. Perhaps it's not as painful as a Dementor's attack, but the effects are as lasting. Now, I didn't use the time-turner today, so I must go. Use your skill well. The Dark Lord will not anticipate it in you." And so he left me alone, fifteen minutes to prepare myself for the Dark Lord's next meeting.

Well, here I am! Preparing...

Draco

* * *

August 7, 1997

Dear Journal,

Well, it worked... I think. The person on the receiving end (I don't even bother remembering names anymore... Rowle? Dolohov? Thicknesse? Just people who need to be manipulated by the Dark Lord) seemed to hurt no less, though it was much easier to bear when I was compartmentalizing my emotions. And my little spirit friend, the one whom accompanies me after bouts of Dark Magic, was no where to be found. Rather than feeling that I have thrown it off, I more sense a kind of graduating past it's capabilities for corruption...

Eh. I'm not even talking in sentences any more. Send me back to school!

So my cognition can reboot,

Draco

* * *

August 17, 1997

Dear Journal,

In the past two weeks, I have tortured a dozen faces. I have misdirected the regular, or perhaps a bit larger than regular dosage of teenage angst and transformed it into pain. It no longer hurts me, when I use the spells. I believe that is what Father intended by teaching me the extended Occlumency. He visited me later to tell me that most wizards and Death Eaters do not bother to learn it that way, and that such self-control is very rare. I looked at Severus Snape when Father spoke, and Father responded to my gaze with a simple "rare, but not exclusive."

It no longer hurts me, but I am no longer helped from the guilt. I only shovel that guilt onto the next torture spell.

Whatever the guilt is, it is never enough to convince me to stop. My cowardice, my strength, the gray areas in between- it withstands everything.

Draco

* * *

August 22, 1997

Dear Journal,

I would really like to begin this entry in the same manner as the last. In the past two weeks... blah, blah, blah. A dozen faces. I have misdirected... It no longer hurts... Withstands.

And still, today the Dark Lord surprised me. Undermined me.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord said. I was shocked by the name; I've made a habit of keeping my head down, for it helps in not seeing them for who they really are when I torture them. The misdirection wouldn't be nearly as effective, and the whole purpose of the torture is to be effective- otherwise the Dark Lord would know. The Dark Lord knows everything, controls everything- and his wrath at incompetency is incomparable to anything.

"Lucius, I have been dissatisfied with the wand that you lent to me for use. First, I would like to inform you that it is gone." I struggled to keep my head down. My Father's wand- gone? How much lower can we be shoved? _We are on the right side, the right place, the winners,_ I repeated to myself, but somehow, with the wand of our clan's patriarch snapped, it doesn't feel much like we're winners, does it? "Ollivander was wrong. I dealt with him personally for this failure two weeks ago." (the entire room thought, or rather, the Malfoy men: why have you waited two weeks for this meeting?) "Now, I must demand better service from you." Then the laundry list comes down, just as I have heard it for a dozen other nameless, faceless failure Death Eaters. "The Malfoys fail to bring me the Prophecy, and cause me to reveal myself, ruining my current plans of stealth. Then the Malfoys fail to murder Albus Dumbledore. And now the Malfoys have even failed to supply me with a wand that I can _use well_, as you seem so incapable of doing. And what of it? Are the Malfoys simply destined to utterly fail in all ways possible?"

"No, my Lord. Please, allow us another chance."

"I am. Draco Lucius Malfoy," the Dark Lord turns to me, a strange, curious glint in those red, pitiless slits. "You know what to do."

I raise my wand, but it's shaking, just as my hand is shaking. I stare straight into Father's eyes, and a simple message snakes back to me. _Do it._ "Crucio," I hiss, and force myself in an act of pure self-preservation and nothing else, blocking out everything else, to feel furious at the necessity of doing this. _IS THIS WHAT WINNING FEELS LIKE?__ IS THIS WHAT WINNING FEELS LIKE?_

It's over very quickly, but a quick glance at the Dark Lord reaps that I seem to have done it satisfactorily. For a moment, it is as though he contemplates handing me a lemon drop. I hate little favors like that; suggesting that I am a baby. They all think that still, despite what I am forced to do. But the Dark Lord decides not to antagonize me further, deposits the lemon drop in his mouth, and bades the Malfoys a good evening. "Leave me now."

Father leaves first, and then I, and I'm at a loss at what to do or say. I have just tortured my father. This is more than a measly muggle torture. Crucio needs intent- and somewhere along the line, I had enough resentment for him and his little secrets and his command of respect and his leaving us for Azkaban- to want him to hurt. To _want_ him to writhe on the floor in pure agony and feel subservient to me.

That's about when I realize that I'd forgotten to dispel the darkness of the spell. I can't have done it, for it lingers with me even now.

Draco

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_A/N: And that wraps up the summer! Cheerful, right?_

_No philosophical stuff right now, I just want to deliver this chapter to you and call it a night._

_To my dear reviewers:_

_mjmusiclover: I love you for the simple duty that you fulfill that more than 50% of those whose eyes graze this page do not have the energy to offer. And then, your consistent encouragement and compliments ever since you first joined for Chapter 13, 11 months and one week ago. You rock.  
_

_honourary weasley: Yeah, my friends are now completely positive that I'm weird. That's awesome! I hope that whoever reads/grades/peruses that essay has read Harry Potter, or discusses it with someone who has... Yes, I very much do feel very good. Compliments and reviews as you give me so kindly make me feel as glow-y inside. :) Emotions are a large part of the whole stir-fry, as that's what really drives Draco to run to his journal, and kind of hide behind the pages. This was a much shorter, more concise response- only for sleepiness and urgency. I will get this update to you... NOW!_

_Okay, peoples, love, hugs, smiles, homemade Dark Marks, and please review, thank you!  
_


	56. VII: PostGraduate Certified Slytherins

_Disclaimer: You are not allowed to sue me for the Harry Potter characters created by J. K. Rowling. It is strictly prohibited. So... don't try it._

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August 23, 1997

Dear Journal,

Today, for the first time, Mother entered to see me. I have mostly become a recluse this summer, rereading little muggle books that I smuggle from the "secret" hoard in the Master Bedroom Wing. It passes the time more pleasantly than the leers of the unhygienic and vicious residents of Malfoy Manor. I avoid everyone except when called- even Father arranged our meetings when they occurred... I have not seen him since last night- then again, it's only been a morning and a noon. I'm just being paranoid.

But Mother did come, and after greetings, I was quick to query: "Do you have the time turner?"

"No. Few will mind my whereabouts. I am no Death Eater, after all."

Ooh, burn. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"It's not safe for me to stay around the Manor."

"Where do you go?" She didn't answer, and only rushed to envelop me in her embrace. She smelled warm and sweet, expensive perfume and clean sheets and faux fur. And this was enough. Then she stood back a bit, her finely manicured hands on my shoulders straightening my posture, to take me in, it seemed. I did the same- she looked years older (oh, how she'd fuss if she knew what I was writing!) and her expression less refined, less distant. Her white-blond hair was tied tightly back, rather than flowing down her back in a complicated plait or half-up-do as custom.

"Oh, I've missed you so much."

I hadn't had a proper conversation with her since last summer, I realized at that moment. I'd skipped out on staying over Christmas break... Oh my. By Mother's clock, I was still "having an affair" with Pansy Parkinson, who, whilst being hot and very Slytherin, hasn't much else to offer, whatever I may have deluded myself into believing... Oh. For the first time since, I started wondering how my "friends" at Hogwarts would react to me. Surely they would still adore me? I was the House of the Malfoys, and the Dark Lord is practically headmaster, so practically causing Dumbledore's death and the Battle of Hogwarts (not quite named by the historians yet... Bathilda Bagshot is apparently a bit out of her mind at the moment... but I think the name is fitting, yes?) will likely be seen in a good light, right?

"Me too, Mother."

"You've grown! Oh, and you sound so old. It reminds me of your Father..."

Oh ****. Father. Apparently my discomfort showed on my face. "Er... I noticed you and Father having a discussion in the hall

"Well, then, I suppose I ought to get to the point." Mother sighed. "You're big enough to make your own decisions, I suppose. Seventeen. An adult. Two months older than I was on my wedding day."

I felt slightly awkward at this divulged information, but I wouldn't complain. I'd rather err on the side of too much.

She continued haltingly. "I don't always... see eye-to-eye... with your Father... I'm no _Death Eater_, but I took it as it was that he and my older sister would work _together_ on this... He gives me more license than is ever really necessary. But... recently, he's been employing more of his... rights... as a pureblood husband, I suppose. Our disagreements usually concern you, and" her breath hitched and she sped up a mite "I thought that maybe our squabbles would be resolved more _fairly_ if you knew what all of this was about."

My mother is a Slytherin in her own right, I mused, slightly proud. She won't ever get her way with Father (she'll have tried _everything_ with him first, after all), so after weighing her options, she figured that if she went to me, there's a 50% chance I'll go with her side anyway, adding the validity of male approval to whatever her ends are. If not, at least she tried.

"I don't like how you are used by the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord is in control of everything- we're on the right side, see. So we can't leave now."

"Torturing your Father may have been _right_, but that's between you, your Father, and the Dark Lord. All I'm saying is I don't like it."

"Well, I don't much enjoy it either, Mother, but I don't see what can be done about it.

"You don't? Your Father has assured me that he has made the process virtually painless for you through lessons. He has insisted on the necessity of those lessons for that purpose, and so I relented. But as I understand from your ever-delighted Aunt Bella, the Dark Lord has surpassed your Father's expectations by placing a new piece into play. So I want you to answer me honestly." She had no way of verifying whether I was being honest; I knew Occlumency, after all... but dealing with her was different than Father or the Dark Lord or really, anyone else. She trusted me and if I lied, she trusted my reasons and she trusted me to take her seriously. "Was your meeting with the Dark Lord painless, last night?"

I had tortured _Father_. I had forgotten to forbid the curse's dark sheen from passing over me. I could not forget the image of him, played over and over in my head, burned into the interior of my skull... Those two forces had fought each other, given each other headaches, tears, manic anger in their battles... And I felt their losses on both sides.

Rather than supply a pleasing answer (but what would that even be? She loved him; he was her husband, he was my Father. She loved me. I knew she wouldn't want my to be so unfeeling as to torture him without pain- but at the same time, she didn't want me to be in pain, right?), I simply said, "I don't know."

She hugged me a last time, and replied "I worried that was the case" before sweeping out of the room.

Afterward, I started thinking about... of all things... my Dark Mark. Mother hadn't tried to oppose it, when the necessity for joining had arisen one summer ago. She only tried to ease the initial pain of my Dark Mark... which I realize now has never really descended from it's original level. Only a small tolerance to it has risen. It feels almost like a scar that has almost fully healed but keeps getting ripped open by the Dark Lord's summons, and, theoretically, mine (I've never tried it- yeesh, who wants _more_ attention?).

But she never tried to stop me, she never voiced an opposing opinion... why? She was the head of the house, wasn't she? Yet she never really took the reins... It was as though she was waiting dutifully for Father's return. Or she knew what he would want. Or it was simply necessary. But nothing had really changed since then. Or... had she changed?

Upon Father's return from Azkaban, it's as though everything has shifted. I never realized it was more than me, and more than Father.

I mean, I guess it was hard to see other people as, really, people. Protagonists of their own lives. I mean, I've grown up, spoiled, the center of attention and the way I liked it. But now... Father weird after Azkaban, Mother weird after... something: her husband returning, her son leaving, her son torturing her husband... And now, for her own purposes, she's come to my room to plant the seeds of doubt in my heart. She says I'm old enough to make my decisions. She means... I'm old enough to defy my Father. Or to defy my Master? No, no age can allow that. So many tried, and so many died, and now the Dark Lord's won. And yet... she's left so much to me. She didn't say the message she obviously was aiming to relay. She just prodded my thinking into certain paths...

Wow. I never knew Mother was such a genius.

Does that mean I should listen to her?

Well, she's Mother, I should listen by default...

But she's suggesting to defy Father. Father **always** supersedes Mother.

She did say, "You're big enough to make your own decisions, I suppose. Seventeen. An adult. Two months older than I was on my wedding day."

Unfortunately, she hasn't even outlined the decisions I'm supposed to make.

Duh. That's _the_ metaphor for life.

I don't feel ready. It won't work if I'm not ready. I couldn't kill Dumbledore!

But you _did_ Crucio your Father.

That's so messed up.

Yeah, or no. You're older, and better, and stronger than you were three months ago. The Dark Lord has trained you. Your Father has trained you...

But Mother is advising not to, hinting that such training is going awry... "Torturing your Father may have been _right_" according to me, Father, and the Dark Lord. And don't forget: "Your Father has assured me that he has made the process virtually painless for you through lessons... Was your meeting with the Dark Lord painless, last night?"

But Mother is advising not to listen to anyone but myself, because I'm of age and "big enough to make your own decisions."

...She supposes.

She's Mother, and that's against everything in her mollycoddling motherhood, so that supposition is quite a big deal.

Okay, okay. But still- what do you decide?

.

.

.

That was the sound of a pebble dropping in Australia, if you didn't know. And so that's how all of my potentially enlightening life-analyses end up. With pebbles dropping in Australia. And that's where I could go all summer long if it weren't for the Dark Lord, Father, Mother, mood swings, meals, bedtime, and you.

_Ouch_. The aforementioned Mark is stinging (a deceptively mild adjective, hm...) my crippled arm (that's a better one), so... It's bedtime for you, then.

Draco

* * *

August 24, 1997

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord has stopped calling me for lessons. He triumphantly claimed at yet another Death Eater + Mother meeting that Hogwarts would now be monitored closer than ever. He would honor the Carrow siblings in the task of teaching two posts: Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies (the Carrows despise children, and exchanged dubious glances). "Don't fret, now," the Dark Lord said, in a good mood, apparently, "Feel free to... have _fun_ with the curriculum, though you may discuss it with me for ideas."

"Now, another reward position," he announced. If he were Dumbledore, the eye-twinkling would have overpowered the Sun. But Dumbledore's dead, so... "Headmaster of Hogwarts will be Severus Snape. A pleasant irony, hm?"

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape said, his face impassive as some of the wilder, more unsavory characters burst into raucous hysteria. But he bowed his head slightly when he spoke, an entertainer accepting the applause as it was.

"And finally... Draco," my head snapped up, but I quickly refocused on the wall, far far away from the Dark Lord's eyes. "No need for any more of your lessons. I will be traveling."

And surely enough, there are to be no more...

Well, time for finishing up on all of my procrastinated summer homework in an _epic_ one-week dash!

Draco

* * *

August 25, 1997

Dear Journal,

One might think that I could manage to evade Father for at least a week after those nightly escapades. But no. Mother returned, knocking lightly on the door and calling my name sweetly and patiently. I bade her welcome, and she rushed in, ushering in Father as well as though t'were nothing out of the ordinary.

Father looked... well, Father looked a wreck. His eyes were tinged with red, in small circles around his clear grey irises... His finely coiffed clothes hung loosely on a figure that had lost several pounds in several days... Deep dark circles sat atop thin cheeks. It looked like... well, like he had returned to Azkaban and come home to worse dementors. I shuddered at the thought. So I've gone from an empty muggle candy wrapper to a dementor. Well, strategically, this is more useful, but otherwise...

Mother glanced at both of us, and opened her mouth as though to speak, but Father then cut the silence first. "Know that I do not blame you for what occurred last week."

It was a command, not a statement or reassurance. Or maybe it was meant to reassure, but that it was a command remained, and that irked me past reassurance. "Why should you? You told me to do it."

To her credit, Mother did not jump to conclusions nor get overly hyperupset- the wonderful women of Slytherin. Instead, she absorbed this and said calmly, "This I did not know."

"Narcissa, not now."

"Very well then. When?"

"As always."

"If you're there."

At that, Father spun around, shock and hurt flitting across his face. "Narcissa..." he pleaded shortly, but to no avail. So he changed tactics. Unlike Mother, his voice did not remain control. Instead, it dropped to an ardent whisper. "Ever I wasn't I wished t'wasn't so."

To my utter bewilderment, Mother's lips quirked and she responded, "No stilling wonderment with pronouns contrary."

He struggled for a response, and I felt like peevishly pointing out _HELLO? What about ME?_ but I held my tongue for the sake of curiosity. After all, figuring out this code might somehow give me an upper hand or _something_. Had their spat progressed to such a level that they no longer wished for me to understand their words? "For lying so, I do not lie."

"Lysander, you cheater." And Mother actually _laughed_, a gleeful, young sound. Mothers do not laugh. They kiss and croon and fret... they sit, depressed, and pine for their husband's assuring hand... they cook and bustle... they rustle in sheer efficiency and class. Laughing just seemed too _human_.

Fed up with being ignored, I finally risked it and interrupted anyway. "Lysander? Quite a stretch from the usual pronunciation of Lucius, don't you think?"

They both snapped out of it and looked at me as though I had dropped out of the sky. "Thank you," Mother said finally, and that I could understand but not entirely. Then, I realized she spoke to Father, and any understanding was lost.

"You had just told me that you didn't blame me," I recalled, deciding not to mention my bitter retort.

"Does that ease anything?"

"No, not really. It was less about your blame than your pain."

"I haven't been entirely open with you." Mother made a slight noise.

"Really, now?" Sarcastic, sure, but I wasn't entirely pleased with how he was reacting to me torturing him. He was treating me as a child, just as always. It wasn't your fault, you didn't know, don't worry, darling. It just... I don't know what I wanted from him. A scarred look, a forever rift in our relationship? Those were far more unpleasant alternatives... logically. Disownment? Owning up to my strength? Full disclosure? -Wait a minute, there. If that was what this was to be, then I'd certainly put aside my jumbled feelings of resentment and perk up.

"Draco... have you ever been a target of the Cruciatus?" Well, not quite as direct as I'd hoped, but... I'm still a hopeful person.

It took a while for me to mull this over. I had so accepted my place in the ranks of the Death Eaters... Becoming Unforgivable, casting Imperio and a tried Crucio and a tried Avada Kedavra and a dozen Crucios... It had become the same to me. "No," I responded, surprised.

"What do you think it feels like?"

"It hurts," I said, feeling slightly unseated how my descriptive vocabulary had abandoned me.

"What kind of hurt? A paper cut?"

"No," I defended- the feeling just came over me. "It's the worst pain anyone could ever suffer."

Mother seemed to have sensed this, saying in a warning tone: "Lucius... All or none."

"All right," he conceded, and this exchange also confused me. He was actually listening to and agreeing with Mother? Had things changed since two days ago? Well, of course they certainly could have- after all, Father may have been going through a transformative phase. The idea that something out of my wand could leave such an impact gave me a strange sense of pride... I know, it's all very strange and I wouldn't admit it to anyone... Oh, I'm so glad that I have you. "You're right, of course... It's not a paper cut. It's not a burning, or a stabbing, or a fresh Dark Mark."

"Is there a point?"

"No stabbing, I said that already- _oh_. The point is that there's really no use worrying about it if I'm not worried."

That really didn't seem right, but once again I could tell that this was no statement, but a command. _Mother's worried_, I mentally returned, but I said nothing other than a weak nod. So much for full disclosure. Of "all or none," he'd chosen none without hesitation. Why should I let him know of my dissatisfaction? Father was not my ally.

In fact, it is a basic Slytherin principle that pretenses are far more flexible than alliances. Because they can be true, but in a different sort of way.

That'd be useful to remember, actually. Pretenses [greater than or equal to] Alliances, when x is flexibility and y is strength. Nevermind, I still suck at Arithmancy, despite the Cabinet-work...

Draco

* * *

August 26, 1997

Dear Journal,

Manipulative bastard.

Okay, not at all a bastard...

But still, he knows me way too well.

I don't feel guilty anymore! Hm.

Manipulative non-bastard.

Draco

* * *

September 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

For the first time in months, I'm venturing out into the transformed wizarding world. No one would attack me, Mother assured me. The news of my involvement is not widely known (in fact, Harry Potter is more openly suspected of having a hand in it all than me!)

I know, of course, that that's not going to matter to Slytherins. They'll know. They're far too cunning for their own good, just like everyone else who's ever passed through that sacred House.

But they won't attack, because pretenses [greater than or equal to] alliances & alienation, and they know that intuitively.

Well, the smart ones do.

But most of them are.

Time to catch the train- it's like a final farewell to a home swarmed with strange secrets and dark denizens! Not like there's any reason for them to be gone when I next return home... Hm...

Still, it's good to be back,

Draco

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_A/N: A long chapter, only because I really really really wanted to get to school. Him on the Hogwarts express=school. **The Draco Diaries' first birthday** is here! *throws up balloons and other tomfoolery*  
_

_Now, I'd like to discuss ****__sexism__ for a moment. Some of the things Draco discusses will be sexist, outdated, and generally not influenced by the ideas of Enlightenment (Have I been reading too much Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality? Mayhaps). I am a girl (if this wasn't apparent by my username- that's not a misspelling). The things that Draco is saying, he'll take it as gospel. That's the kind of person that Draco is. _This may or may not be resolved in this story, and for that uncertainty, I apologize. But I never try to portray Draco as particularly wise, flawless, or good. And every sentiment that he expresses is meant to convey some facet of this flawed, immature, naturally prejudiced person. The end of this story will not represent his **Enlightenment** (as in Buddha), or his ascension to perfection. Oh yeah, and he's also a little selfish and spoiled... sorry bout that.  


_So there's a little heads up on the "reality" that I'm depicting. That's not to say that he's not going to grow, or develop, or finally grasp some fundamental concept known as theme. That's what makes it fun! But Draco will always have his issues... because that's fun, too! :)_

_Mmm... I referenced a very potter musical very slightly in Draco's last words to his journal (last as in this chapter... it's not over by a long shot). Sort of fitting, as AVPS is coming out for youtube this month! *EXPRESSES EXTREME EXCITEMENT* Also, a **reference to Shakespeare**. If you understood the strange exchange between husband and wife, and inform me, you'll get virtual ****__birthday cupcake__**s**. Any flavor you want._  


_Sorry for a less eventful chapter. This had a lot of parts that aren't as intense but are necessary._

_**NOW TIME TO HYPERVENTILATE! *deep whiff of Albuterol* MULTIPLE LONG REVIEWS! *gasp*  
**_

_**honourary weasley**: Oh, darn, I feel guilty now. Fine, fine... I'll look over this chapter before I post it. But you'll have to wait _FIVE MINUTES_ longer! Ha! Oh, I like the Potter-Malfoy-Rowling parallel a lot. It's very "honoring" to know that my tales are invoking new perspectives on the author and themes of the Harry Potter series! And it's also really interesting, too. I want to be a professional writer, as soon as an original idea takes a hold of my brain and I find the perseverance to stick with it until the end of a story, so it's just really fantastic to look at these books and find that there are people inside of there.  
_

_And oh, how the story would be different if Draco was a hero! But through it all, he is very much a coward- even God (I mean, JKR) says so. And that defines him so much... Yes, I did have an urge, immediately discarded, to ignore the end of DH and just have Draco withstand it, and then escape, and find Harry and make everything better! But those kind of urges are the kind that make you think "Well, that was silly" and move on quickly, for the sake of quality._

_Pshaw- proper review? If it pertains to the chapter and makes me squee!, then I can't think of anything more proper._

_**mjmusiclover**: Yes, I don't envy Lucius or Draco. And no more almost- As of 20 minutes ago, it's been a **YEAR!** So celebrate! And thank you for the birthday rocks. :D And masterpiece- quite the compliment indeed. It's wonderful that you're as enthralled as at the beginning. Keep reviewing, and I'll collect my rocks and build a castle and then ship it to you when I'm done. (DISCLAIMER: No completion time in sight)  
_

_**Lilthinker:** Welcome on board! I'm very flattered to have impressed you. I'm glad that my Draco presents a realistic medium. And as a hero? Well, in a way, then, yes. All characters are redeemable (though Voldy and Umbridge can be a stretch) and oftentimes fanfiction doesn't portray that and I'm just . He's very bitter at this point, but it's mostly stemming from his feelings of hopelessness and a kind of underlying fear that he wants to ignore by slathering on other feelings, like bitterness and anger and hate, to occupy himself. In his case, all of it's really superficial- but he doesn't recognize it as such, because it's been going on for such a long time._

_Ooh! Millicent! Yes, I _really_ like her, actually. She was my first specimen (but not the last...) of an actual likable Slytherin (by that, I mean how Pansy is really not nice when it doesn't suit her, Crabbe's unfaithful in more ways than one, and etc.). Milly's main problem, landing herself in "stinkin' Slytherin" (quote Harry Potter to Neville Longbottom, PS) is that she's easily pressured by Draco and their friends, because of her underlying ambition to fit in, despite desperately trying to stand up and out and not lose herself in the sludge. She recognizes their weakness, but has fallen prey to it, making fun of Harry sometimes with Draco and utilizing her wit in ways that she'd prefer not to. Draco's friendship was wonderfully new to her, but dangerous, too. He broke it off with her, because it was a weakness that she couldn't overcome on her own. Now... well, we'll just see how Draco's relationship with _all_ of the separate Slytherins has transformed, shall we? (And I just loved the review. Please do more!)_

_**HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Everyone eat lots of cake! ...or fruit and vegetables! *shifty eyes* Yeah. REVIEW!**  
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	57. VII: Singleton

_Disclaimer: This chapter contains an excerpt from the game "SIMS Deluxe Edition." Excerpt meaning... quote. Which Draco is not supposed to know he is referring to, because having him refer to a muggle computer game is a bit of a stretch, even by my standards. JKR's only reference to such muggle entertainments was how Dudley occupied his time when not watching T.V., eating, or beating up unfortunates.  
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September 2, 1997

Dear Journal,

This is all so bewildering. I can't understand it.

Why won't the old crowd talk to me?

Well, I do suppose it's not the old crowd so much as a very small collection of people.

Teddy Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey never associated with me too much. Teddy- well, I don't know why. I guess

Blaise Zabini's disdain for me and mine for him is well-known.

Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe never talked much, but now even their silence is resentful. I expect they've been listening to politics as of late... What a summer, then! When you can't escape your own reputation in the most loyal lackeys. Luckily, their resentment doesn't pierce their thick skulls into rebellion, so I'm safe.

Pansy Parkinson, well, doesn't take lightly to being dumped. She didn't last year, and I'm sure that a year of blatant receding into reclusion hasn't helped our relationship in the slightest. Goodness, woman, can't you appreciate that it was a good love while it lasted and move on already? It could be much more pleasant to us both if she'd just allow us to return to normal levels of companionship. Though I suppose that what is true for her is true for all of them. Friendships are like plants. I didn't cater to that delicacy, and not only is Professor Sprout furious but I've also let them wither away.

Well, you know what? There are tons of other Slytherins. Ravenclaws, Huff- no, not them. But what about Teddy? He'd understand my predicament. And Daphne isn't so bad-looking herself. Tracey... eh. A halfblood, with a Ravenclaw elder brother? Maybe not.

There's an entire table of people I ate a meal with last night, for the first time in half a year (I didn't eat much at all last year, if I recall correctly), and just because the handful I sat near aren't sociable to me, it doesn't mean I can't rise above it.

Yes, that's it.

I'll have to try and... meet new people. Like I did six years ago...

Hm. I'll have to rack my brains on that one. Or my diary.

How _does_ one go about starting your life?

Yours,

Draco

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September 3, 1997

Dear Journal,

Loneliness isn't the only unexpected change... or unchanged element, you could say. I think I honestly thought that Hogwarts would still be the warm place it was before... well... _I_ messed everything up.

Instead, it's exactly the same- as my summer.

Alright, I suppose you, as a book, are probably confused by my lack of explanation, so I'll hasten to pen it. Simply put, we are being forced to torture our peers.

_EXACTLY THE THING I'VE BEEN DOING ALL SUMMER._

I know it's horrible, but the whole thing is starting to numb over me. It's just starting to be slightly _dull_. Can't Death Eaters and the Dark Lord get any more creative ways of enjoying themselves than sadistically, schadenfreude-ally, causing others pain?

Right now, they are students with detentions. Only one person has managed to be stupid enough to get into such a position _first day of school_. It's that Neville Longbottom- you know, the one whom I suspected of being mentally retarded before and see no reason to alter my verdict six years later.

And he simply made matters worse by struggling as he was tortured. Hasn't he heard that the more limp your mind and body, the less pain you feel? Ignore it, and it's less there? And it certainly didn't help the Carrows' wrath as he shouted "I'm glad I'm in detention, so I don't have to suffer from _this_!" and his flailing arms point at the nervous, frightened, disgusted students with their weak spells. For a moment, I felt as though his eyes grazed deliberately over mine, of all of the students in the NEWT class. Mine eyes- apathy, monotony, and perhaps a bit of sadness. I was disappointed that Hogwarts seems to have died with its headmaster.

And another, more romantic part of me may have been protesting the child abuse- but we are no longer children, and surely- surely the Carrows daren't try such a thing as to use Unforgivables on underage students!

... Is it still considered Unforgivable?

Is there anything that would stop them if it was?

I leave you here. After all, there is more in store for this strange year indeed, and I wouldn't want to run out of pages.

Draco

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September 5, 1997

Dear Journal,

This year, I proudly decided not to presumptuously seek Potter in the train. Firstly, because I was still on tenterhooks as to where I stood with Vince and Greg. Second, I simply decided that it was stupid to pursue him. After all, I didn't have much leverage over him, and I've, say, never really triumphed against him before. There's no way we'll miss each other, or that I'll have to remind him of our animosity, seeing as that particular feature of our relationship magnified particularly last year.

However, it's been several days and word has gotten out that _Potter isn't here._ Neither is Weasel or Granger.

Apparently, many other students are missing, too (none of them Slytherin, however, and none whom I mind to associate with) and it doesn't take a fool to guess who's behind it and why it's happening. Actually, there are three popular theories circulating.

1) They are students of families who have had to go into hiding because of their opposition of the Dark Lord/new way things are run.

2) They have been exterminate due to opposition of the Dark Lord/new way of running things.

3) Their parents do not want them to be in a school run by Severus Snape and with enforcement provided by the notorious Carrows.

All explanations cause fear and silence, like all the best rumors. I'm pretty sure that #1 and #3 is illegal (ever since the Dark Lord made attendance at Hogwarts mandatory), but that makes its suggestion of danger seem even more valid. The fears are as follows: 1- Hogwarts-exposed witches and wizards who oppose the Dark Lord's agenda are in danger (who assume it is the Dark Lord); 2- No one is safe if they are not Death Eaters or sympathizers; 3- Hogwarts is dangerous in itself.

Whatever it is, I'm certainly immune- the whole Slytherin house seems to be.

Draco

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September 7, 1997

Dear Journal,

One week down. Only 39 left.

To pass the time which I now find in abundance in my loneliness, I started perusing the Daily Prophets that had simply been piling up on my bedside for the last month. In my acute depression, I hadn't bothered to even glance at them. Now, staring at them with the eye of a Death Eater, I could literally track the Dark Lord's methodical, secretive approach to taking over all of Britain.

Some details I hadn't received in the few meetings I had been allowed to attend- for instance, the Muggleborn Register. I read the article with a small smirk. Finally, just as Father had always wanted, there are no mudbloods at Hogwarts! I marveled at my surroundings, at the beautiful purity of everyone, and felt safe. It was like being with family. Unfortunately, the Muggleborn Register doesn't apply to half-bloods.

Then I started reading the list of suspected-muggleborns-that-have-yet-to-submit-their-applications-on-blood-status-and-are-therefore-considered-muggleborn- and my eye caught on Hermione Granger's name.

A myriad of feelings accompanied the recognition.

First, it was some kind of satisfaction/relief/smartness... I'm not sure of the word I'm searching for. But it was basically: _Aha! _That_ explains where Granger has gone!_

Then there was another weird, vocabulary-surpassing feeling. Just because once upon a time I actually liked Granger, and before that I hated her mudblood guts. Now it was just realization that she meant a lot less to me now than ever, and that was really strange.

And finally, an accomplished triumph. Just because she was always so top priority in my blood purity proclamations... sort of like my Number 1 Mudblood. Befriending Harry Potter, possibly being more?, mixing herself up with Rita Skeeter, petitioning for House-Elf rights (a Slytherin-wide joke), top of the class, hand always raised stick straight in the air... She _made_ herself conspicuous.

And now, ironically, she will not complete her education. She will not return to Hogwarts. Supposedly the brightest witch of the generation, she might be sent to Azkaban before she's nineteen... I'm telling you, _that's_ irony.

Draco

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September 14, 1997

Dear Journal,

Life without pals has been, actually... really boring. And depressing, to be honest.

Sitting in class and actually quietly doing assignments. When the professors give the option to pair up or work singly, being forced to choose the latter. When, in not having the other choice, you have to work with someone else, someone random- some dark-skinned Ravenclaw (Indian or something, so probably smart and dedicated, I figured) who doesn't talk to you and doesn't like you and feels uncomfortable and wishes that her usual friend hadn't come down with dragonpox at the most inconvenient time.

To know that to them, class would be about the same or slightly better without you. They don't care if you cut, they don't care if you _die_.

People are supposed to care when Malfoys die. He*l, I had a f***ing FAN CLUB just by getting scraped by a hippogriff in third year!

What's changed? More importantly, what can I do to adapt?

Draco

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September 19, 1997

Dear Journal,

Well, I suppose I ought to try talking to _some_one. There are few ways to make friends in Slytherin:

1) Impress them.

That helps to inadvertently draw them, and rather than appear desperate or even desirous of friends, they are drawn to you and will try to convince you, in their own way, that you should welcome them into your life. Unsavory characters may result, but so can shrewd ones. They notice your potential for greatness, and know that friends of greatness often share in the attention, adoration, and wealth by mere proximity... Use with caution. And don't tell them about your will, unless it is to say that you don't have one written.

2) Know them.

Though the playmates you were shoved with had one purpose and one purpose only to the masterminds- a few hours to themselves whilst not having to labor over childrearing- such occurrences should be taken advantage of. They're ready-made allies with time and experience, you may even have blackmail on them, and, to top off the perfect friendship, they're likely pureblood.

3) Help them.

They know you have an ulterior motive, but you have something they want and they want it enough to risk it and _you_ can provide this all-important service. Plotting together is great bonding activity.

That said, (2) has really ever been my friend-making technique. Vince, Greg, Pansy... I never knew Tracey or Daphne before, and I still don't know them very well. Sometimes we converse and hang out by the mere similarity of being Slytherin... but there isn't really a bona fide friend in either of them. Mrs. Zabini and Mr. Malfoy are both pretty well-known, but their children have turned out to hate each other anyway (Mother opposed to the idea of playmating with Blaise because she didn't want her husband "anywhere near that gold-digging murderess."

The only two people who go against the flow of (2) are Teddy and Milly...

Teddy, because he's too independent to really bond with anyone (or maybe just doesn't like me? But I can't imagine why)...

Milly, because I didn't impress her, I didn't know her, and I never helped her. But she still decided to be my friend...

Have I solved my dilemma?

Draco

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_A/N: Yes, it's been a while, but it's not a bad chapter. And I've got plans, though I'm hard-pressed to figure out how to introduce a certain character I'm aching to try out..._

_And, I know, enough with the disclaimers already, right? But, anyway, the "indian or something, so probably smart an dedicated, I figured" is a harmful stereotype that darn Draco endorses._

_Where have I been? Drabbling, mostly (**which now includes 20 words about Draco!**). And vacationing. And sleeping. And watching Friends re-runs and Heroes. Along with the usual stuff that fills my day, of course._

_OVERDUE **REVIEW** REPLIES:_

_mjmusiclover- I'm thinking it's too much of a bother to even attempt counting. You win, happy? The rocks have completely flooded my residence, and soon I'll blast them into space so that they can form into a perfect sphere by the force of their own inherent gravity._

_bombplaya3- Aw, yeah, don't worry. Malfoy gets meaner. Seriously, though- why would he bother being mean to his journal? It's a book- and a very shmexy book at that. :)_

_madden10- 1. Don't worry, I believe you. Your fanfic is much different, actually- devoutly movie-verse and story format, rather than canon and diary. 2. As for the plotting, it's all in the books, to be honest. :) Yes, one of Draco's traits, for me, is that he doesn't really respect Crabbe and Goyle because they're simply not very boastful and not clever in how Draco considers it. 3. Yay! I'm enjoying yours, too- I subscribed to it, so you'll be getting a lot of reviews in the future if you update. :) 4. :D 5. Yes, it really did. I also enjoy the movies, though I've watched each of them perhaps twice or three times. The books I've read seven or eight. :) I loved HBP the best- but OOTP was good, too- a refresher from GOF, which irritated me on many levels. I like David Yates as the director a lot. 6. Did I miss a sentence's capitalization? I looked over it, but I didn't see anything. Could you tell me the sentence so I could fix it? 7. :D 8. Oh, wow. You are so right! I can't believe I did that... I'll have to change it someday... 9. Keep on saying it, I'll never tire!_

_Rachel zee HEAD- Gosh, so critical. Nice to see your enjoying your vacation! Well, his exposure to Muggle books is limited. He's not quite given a top-of-the-art library to peruse and from which to find the classics. I do plan to include some more smartypants literature later... but only a little bit. Yeah, go ahead and feel smarter. FACE! (and I don't mind "fail"ing at fanfiction... it's a better fail than most, I find)_

_bombplaya3 againz- Rereading HP is never a bad thing! I'm pleased that your dislike of Malfoy isn't too much of an obstacle, if you like the eye descriptions. "Hers, warm and deep, bored into my misty grey ones, and both of us were full of fear and knew that we would have to be solace for each other." Yeah, well, once you reach this message, you'll know that Draco's singing a different tune, huh? Not quite as nice or Pansy-favoring. When you swing the bias, it really does make an interesting difference._

_mel- Hiya baby! Thanks!_

_**I'm sleepy. If I sleep forever, I won't be writing. Therefore, wake me up with some reviews!**_

_**

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**_

_EVEN MORE IMPORTANT THAN REVIEWING (though it's slightly related) is **fighting world hunger and investing in yourself.** How are both mutually possible? Well, in the group **Fanfictioners Against World Hunger**, through a simple system involving the use of fanfiction. net and freerice, com, it's happening. **Message me or Gryffindor777 if you're interested. **_

_**If you don't have an ffn account, **then review me with an alternative method you're willing to use (preferably easily accessible such as **email** or this story's A/Ns, even). Getting an ffn account is pretty easy, though, and great for keeping tabs on your favorite stories (or this one), so I recommend it. **  
**_

_**If you don't want to**, then please try to at least donate a hundred grains with a review/message telling me you did so, for record-keeping purposes. It's unbelievably easy. Type in freerice . com (without spaces), and just answer a few questions. Before you know it, you'll probably be nearing 250!_**  
**


	58. VII: All the Wrong Reasons

_Disclaimer: You are what you eat. Unfortunately, I'm not in a cannibalistic mood right now, so you'll have to see me as a piece of toast instead of the author of Harry Potter._

_**Review** replies- So I had this bright idea- why not address the reviews FIRST? They happen first, so why not? That's how the other bigwigs do it. And when it's 2 AM and I'm like "blehehhhhzzzzzzzzz" and I just finished the chapter, my A/N's will remain charmingly short! Win-win, no?_

_honourary weasley- No, I'm not going to forgive you. I'm going to thank you. That may be the first honestly constructive review I've received for this story. So I am totally _grateful_ for your concerns, and for your Weasley bravery to express it. First, I'm going to ask you to forgive me for disappointing you. Second, my irresistible urge to debate points out that Draco doesn't take muggle studies... Third, I'm going to react: In my mind, Draco, right now, is consumed in his own emotional problems. He's always put himself first, above any global disasters and such. Before describing the conditions of Hogwarts, he bemoans his own disappointment in it, and the burgeoning guilt for his own state.__ But I will have your questions answered in due time, because they are excellent. You are right, of course. My perspective of Draco is a little too limited- he'll notice some things, if only to compare it to his own plight or to note at the utter irony. The Slytherins' behavior, I'm happy to note, will be explained shortly. But basically the point is, last year, Draco shunned all the friends he had. So they're not at the ready to serve him, and he's not quite sure what to do about it. FOURTHLY: Ooh, thanks for the DH tidbit! That's fantastic! My cousin was joking around that the last movie should just be Harry and Voldemort facing each other, so that he can explain every single loose end that the movies left unresolved via long flashbacks. xD But this is awesome too! FIFTH AND FINAL- all of your questions will be answered one way or another, I guarantee it.  
_

_mjmusiclover: Always a pleasure, ma'am._

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September 20, 1997

Dear Journal,

Dark Arts (or is it still defense? I hear that the best defense is a good offense... Offensive dark arts=defense against them? Hm) now involves a lot more sweat, tears, and shouts. This could be expected, as all classes are now required to torture their friends. Can you imagine? I mean, I haven't really thought about the younger-years... It's all like a story- your seventh year has come with this challenge. But eleven-year olds acting upon the same curriculum as seventeen and eighteen year olds?

Yeah, it's official- the Carrows are awful, unimaginative teachers.

But I digress- Whatever the class should be rechristened as, it also involves a lot more waiting in lines. Perfectly straight lines, because if there's one thing the Carrows like beyond torture and leering, it's power trips. Of course, for the majority of this incredibly redundant NEWT class, the line-waiting is retermed as "anticipation-" that oh-so important element of pain that Count Rugen was once so careful to accentuate on. See, I'm not so bad, for having avoided literature so long... Though I did sneak some from Mother, it's my memory of Milly's books that I'm looking to...

"Erm... hey" I said quietly to her ear, covered by the screams.

Her eyes never left the writhing girl. This time, it was the final Weasley left in school- pretty thing, fierce as her hair, stupid as her complexion. Why did she struggle to keep consciousness? Why did she appeal to her classmates. Why did she insist to claim "Don't worry about me! Save yourselves! Don't give in!"

"What is it?" There was a thin challenge laced in there- it was always a challenge with Milly. She was always sizing me up, downsizing, teasing, insulting... as though convincing me to better myself, just for the sake of doing it. Now, she was daring me to say something worthy of interrupting this daily spectacle.

"May I speak with you, after class?"

"Who am I to stop you?"

Another test. Um, right... "You're Millicent Anne Bulstrode," I replied with equanimity.

"Thanks for informing me," just as her name was called. It was her turn to perform. She did not respond to it.

"Missy, are you deaf from the screams? It's _time_ to check your homework," growled Professor Amycus Carrow, his eyes popping in their sockets when he spied the Slytherin emblem blazoned on her robes' bosom.

She still said nothing, still did not move her eyes from the heaving girl. The Gryffindor seemed to be looking back, and a fleeting smile flicked across her face. What did that mean? "Smile, thanks for letting me rest a bit?" Why are girls so strange? I almost started regretting my choice, but then I remembered that, of the other guys, two were walking boulders, one I had an understood rivalry with, and the final seemed uncooperative with me for the sake of disliking my character. And Milly wasn't _that_ much of a girl, so I reckon it's the best it could get...

"Don't be scared," cooed the Professor, "The consequences of _not_ doing as I say _right now_ are much more frightening, I assure you! Come on , we haven't all day..."

"Do it," I breathed, not quite wanting Milly to be crucified by Amycus Carrow.

"No!"

Both I and Prof. Carrow thought it was directed toward us and acted accordingly. I stiffened; he blew out of control.

"Who let scum like you besmirch the name of Slytherin? CRUCIO!" He held it for but second, but that was enough for Milly to fall to her knees. "Do you want me to do it again?"

"No, thank you," she mumbled.

"Well, I'm thinking that if you don't point your want at that little miscreant, you'll be joining her!"

"Misery loves company," she murmured to me, and then hissed to Ginevra: "Crucio."

The redhead finally blacked out.

"Pathetic," he snarled. "Make a show like that again, Miss Bulstrode, and it's detention for you." He held up the Weaselette's limp hand by the chains that bound her and shook them for emphasis.

"I agree, Professor," said Milly, her face wiped clean of defiance or agony- just obedient, sweet, subservient. "Quite a pathetic performance. I'll do better next time, sir." She gingerly staggered to her feet again, and muttered a quick _Episkey_ and then _Tergeo_ to each knees. I wondered where she learned such spells; I recognized them only from trying them on the Cabinet, just nine months ago. She left me alone, then, to the back of the line.

"Shut up and let Mister Malfoy proceed. You've held up the class," Amycus said, though looking mollified. I stifled an ironic smile; one thing I'd missed about Milly were her duplicitous words. I was up.

"She's unconscious, sir," I pointed out redundantly. "Should I still...?"

He gave a brief nod of assent, and so I continued. The girl screamed awake, and panted as she viewed her aggressor with a red-eyed glare to match her hair and freckles. Suddenly, I recognized that face- more than a year ago, a bat bogey hex... Milly had been there, even though she wasn't an Inquisitorial Squad member... Samantha Jorgenson, now graduated, the lucky brat, had held this Ginevra Weasley captive in her arms as Professor Umbridge did the epically revealing "I-am-evil-and-you-are-almost-dead-and-therefore-I-must-explain-myself-to-you" jig and dance. It was a strange memory, as though half-lived- and then, I realized that it had so been wiped out of my mind, so that I didn't even write it to you, because in some resulting battle in the Ministry of Magic this Ginevra Weasley, her youngest brother, a bushy-haired Mudblood, a boy with a scar, and a few other nameless (Gryffindors, no doubt) started, Father was caught in Death Eater robes and exiled to Azkaban, and it was because of that I had to become a death eater, and Dumbledore and Hogwarts had died...

A brief surge of anger coursed through me, and, inadvertently- more like automatically, I suppose- I channeled it to power the spell. Oh, misdirection, my sweet...

"Very good, Draco!" cried Amycus, his eyes dancing as Ginny's back arched in a climactic shriek. Abruptly aware of what I was doing, I halted the spell, my head swiveling to Amycus. I kept my head down just in case, even though I was fairly sure an idiot like him wouldn't think of Legilimency. "Why did you stop?" His disappointment was exactly that of a two year old whose mother snatched a half-eaten button from him due to germs and sharp edges. (I'm not speaking from life experience, of course...)

"The magic t-tired me out," I claimed quickly, hoping that was possible.

"Still, excellent while it lasted... Back of the class! Next. Ah, who have we here... How are you, Morag? Think you can match Mr. Malfoy's show?"

Luckily, the class ended before we had to do anything else.

Oh, how wonderful to have the hope of company for the first time in weeks! I swear, this must the longest entry for a while, but it's the first class of import for me, so I suppose that really gets me in some kind of journalistic mood.

Draco

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September 21, 1997

Dear Journal,

Milly certainly isn't one to forget. Even after the mind-addling Crucio, she met me after class. I looked her in the eye- funny. At long last, I was finally her height.

"What was it you wanted to say?"

"Oh, nothing in particular... I just wanted to talk with you again," I said brightly- perhaps too brightly, for her brow furrowed.

"What's the _real_ reason?"

I groaned. Milly would never make this easy for me. "I can't rule the world on my lonesome, can I? I need a secretary."

"To usurp you on your arrival feast," she quipped, grinning. "I accept your answer for now."

We spent the afternoon talking. It was Charms class, after all.

Oh, yeah, by the way- all of my other classes (other=barring Defense Against the Dark Arts) are exactly the same, which is good, I suppose. We won't entirely fail our N.E.W.T.S., then. -Which happen to be the subject Milly brings up as we lounge in the common room.

"What are we supposed to do about our examinations?"

Caught off guard, I suavely replied, "What?"

"You know, Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests."

"Weird. I have never bothered to figure out what N.E.W.T. stood for."

"Typical you. But still- how are we expected to even have a fighting change at them for Defense? O.W.L.s were hard enough with that Ministry puppet and her stupid book."

"You? Insult a book? Never!"

She smiled at that. "I think you're avoiding the subject."

Well, perhaps. I'd always figured that Father would take care of such things for me, through the power in the Ministry he used to hold. Realizing that that may fail me this time around, I discarded the idea of saying it. Why say something stupid if you know it's stupid? Silence beats stupidity. I searched for my answer... "The Malfoy Manor has a huge, dusty library. Nonfiction, unfortunately, and unpleasant at that, but... I'd say I could owl Father for some."

"Reading a book for defense? Sounds... Umbridge-ish."

We lapsed into silence. Not awkward, just thoughtful.

"Hm... how did you get so talented at torture?"

"Practice," I said. She did not ask for elaboration. Perhaps she sensed that there was something private in the way I said the word. "Hey- what was up in Defense?"

"Do you realize, she's only sixteen? And I don't know what she was caught with, but it can't be bad enough... A sixteen year old magical body isn't mature. That could be permanent damage!"

"But you didn't oppose it for a fifteen year old," I commented, trying to organize the memory of that night without the despair. "End of fifth year, when you were masquerading among the Inquisitorial Squad."

"That fifteen year old is Harry Potter. He survived the Killer Curse. According to the Quibbler, he's already undergone sustained Cruciatus by _You-Know-Who_. And, to be honest... fifteen year old Millicent was pathetic. Seventeen year-old me is still pathetic," she rectified with a scowl. "And I guess... I guess it didn't really add up to me the same. Hogwarts meant more. Magic meant more."

As she had exhibited discretion for me, I supplied the same courtesy, and once again the silence settled upon us. _Did she mean that she no longer cared about her magic... about Hogwarts... But- there's no such thing as leaving magic! She's a witch, not some muggle, not some mudblood. Is she planning on losing her magic? Her Hogwarts?_ Then I remembered that Hogwarts was already lost... Then my thoughts switched track as my mind ran over her words. The fear and disdain with which she said "You-Know-Who." Not "the Dark Lord." I had a feeling she would disapprove if I ever showed her my left forearm... A small, disturbing image of her recoiling from me and fleeing, face revealing betrayal, was conjured up in my mind. I shook my head to rid myself of it.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing..." I forced my mind back to _Hogwarts meant more. Magic meant more._ Finally, I asked her. I realized then that Milly certainly wouldn't fear questions as I did... "What'd you mean, Hogwarts _meant_ more in fifth year?"

"Think of it this way. What were your impressions of the Welcoming Feast?"

I cast my mind back to the day, to the half-memory. Really, I must be more careful about devoting my experiences to you- otherwise I'll lose it all. "Quiet, and not as friendly."

My honest answer seemed to befuddle her for a long moment. "Really, Draco, do you ever consider _anything_ but yourself?" That, in turn, baffled me, but, as the saying goes, I was "saved by the bell." "Ooh- gotta fly. Muggle Studies." She made a face. "Complete rubbish now that that Alecto has botched it up. You'd think that maybe she'd have half a mind to make her sessions of banal Muggle-bashing more pleasant, wouldn't you, so that we wouldn't all turn on her and take it as reverse psychology?"

"You take Muggle Stu-" but she was already gone.

And now I'm writing furiously in Arithmancy. Mwahaha. Oh, ****, Vector's approaching!

Draco

* * *

Dear Journal,

"You take Muggle Studies?" I asked when the day's classes were over.

"Yeah..." It's the first time I've ever seen Milly defensive. "You know- Know thyself, know thy enemies."

With a raised eyebrow, I deliver this line: "Sure..." Milly suddenly leaned in with a giggle. "What?"

"If glares could kill, Parkinson'd be in Azkaban."

"Well, actually, with the state that Azkaban's in right now-" I glanced around. Sure enough, Pansy was flouncing away, looking _pissed_. "Oh, da*n, what now?"

"She finally got tired of you being a b**** to her, and now that you're revealing the capacity to be nice to _me_, she's upset that you haven't tried repairing your relationship with _her_. Thus, the glare."

_Repair- _Oh. "I've always felt that some things were irreparable," I said carefully, sensing that I was treading very closely to exposure- the vicious shards and splinters of the Vanishing Cabinet seemed to force themselves into my hand. I forced myself to another topic. Why hadn't it occurred to me to apologize? Was it not worth my Malfoy pride to descend to such a state?

"Yet, apparently I'm not."

"As long as bookbinding is an art, you're indestructible."

"He who praises everybody praises nobody," Milly remarked with a wry smile that I didn't quite understand. "Speaking of which, I feel as though our discussion about N.E.W.T.s is unfinished."

"You feel right." Okay, that came out weird, judging by Milly's snort and my lessened paleness. I sighed at that point. How was I really going to be able to dodge the subject of my, erm, relations with Death Eaters and the impending war? It was so apparent, so ingrained, in our state and lives here. This was Hogwarts, the greatest martyr of the war.

"Do you have a sore throat?"

Caught by surprise, I said "No."

"Am I- am I bothering you? Should I go? I mean, you're not saying much and I don't know- am I intruding? Do you need time to- to something?... I don't know what I thought, I mean, nothing's changed. You're still Draco Malfoy and a... and everything that that entails, and I'm still Millicent Bulstrode, caught up in Muggle literature and a lot more trashy blood..."

Oh, no. Of course. How could I ever, _ever_ fool myself that two conversations had erased two years? What an idiot am I! I quickly sought words, some words, any words, to absolve my silence. Talking to Millicent was like playing a game, in a way- that's what made it fun, even though it meant more than any mere game. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day!"

"The day when..."

"When I get the chance to tell _the_ Millicent Bulstrode that she is one-hundred, absolutely, percent _wrong_ about something!" Though my expression was triumphant, I couldn't help an uneasiness... There was a hard truth the her reasons that remained, even though the question itself had been resolved...

"Nice job. But still- why so reluctant to speak? Were you asleep all summer plus two weeks of school, not to mention a few years to catch up on?"

Asleep- now that was laughable. Draco Malfoy, who can Crucio in his sleep! *supermusic* "I'm going to assume that's rhetorical and deign not to answer."

"Fair enough. But I know there's something that you're hiding, and I don't need to know what it is, but I want to know why you don't want me to know."

"You'll tear down my reasons, my inhibitions."

"Ooh, like firewhiskey! Sounds exciting. But, alright. I promise to _restrain_ myself from doing anything whatsoever to change your mind."

This I had to see. "You'd put ten galleons on that?"

"Why should I? You don't need them, and your mind isn't worth it."

"Good point- I mean, the former one," I corrected sternly as her smirk threatened to enter her ear.

"But you can't distract me. Please, Draco."

"Okay," I said, slightly thrown off by the "Please, Draco." She hardly ever called me by name- usually it included surname, or it was more of a "Hey, you!" or some jibe to lead into conversation... "My reasons for not telling you... Well, one, it feels kind of private... And two, I don't really know how much you know... Er... I don't want to... corrupt your perspective of me, if that makes sense."

"So, now I'm going to see you as a fourteen-year old, then? One who's still gaga over Pansy Parkinson, and innocent and willful and spoiled as a sixteen year-old Scarlett?"

"_What_ have you been reading?" She sneaked a glance at our surroundings, and allowed me to peek in her bookbag at a gargantuan thing- bigger than my face, it seemed like. _Gone With the Wind_. Already, the title seemed ominous. "Also, cough up those ten galleons."

"I never accepted. And you've enough, haven't you?"

"And yet... So you don't think I have a sore throat, or am fourteen... What's ailing me, then, by your diagnosis?" Why else would a Slytherin want reasons, if not to guess?

She stood and started weaving her way to her dormitory. Without looking back, she answered: "PTSD. By the way, I _love _that dumbfounded look on your face- _very_ attractive, Mr. Malfoy."

Must everything she says be double-edged?

Draco

* * *

_A/N: So, there are a lot more chapters coming. I admit it; apparently, I suck at pacing. Sorry, I'm just always SO eager to deliver my chapter to you once I write it._

_I have a lot of plans in store, I promise. Ask a question, and I'll stick in an answer, somewhere along the line of this ridiculously long year.  
_

_Finally, the offer for Fanfictioners Against World Hunger still stands... As do my hopes for reviews.  
_


	59. VII: The New Caste

_Disclaimer: I wonder how many of you read these disclaimers. I do put effort in making sure that each and every one is different from the previous, whether that involves changing languages or concepts._

_**Review replies**: _

_honourary weasley: There are more GWTW references in store (not this chapter, but a few later, I'm thinking)- I'm a total GWTW junkie, except to the point of committing myself to the Cause (because then I'd probably have to be a slave, even if I got to be house darky and not a "fe'el hand"). Nah, the Carrows aren't creative enough to make Muggle Studies compulsory- and plus, too lazy as well, which will be minorly explored in this chapter. :) That Gryffindor-Slytherin comparison is really interesting. While I don't believe that Slytherins are mean and Gryffindors nice, Slytherins are usually not "Gryffindor nice," as much. And speaking of... OMRowling I am SO excited that you asked about Milly's parentage! SO EXCITED, in fact, that I'm going to FORGET TO ANSWER YOU! *hums non-suspiciously* (Lightning, lightning, lightning, lightning- LIGHTNIIIIIIIIIING!) Ooh, the concept of Hermione as a mere plot device excites me. I guess Milly is Draco's Hermione, just as Draco has now been dubbed Milly's Scarlett...  
_

_violetwild: Oh, I just love new readers who review! I express enormous gratitude for those darling reviews 1, 2, 3, :D Yeah, young Draco is a blast. I really love your reviews- they remind me of the little jokes and such I don't even remember writing! It's amazing, having been over a year of endeavoring to write the Draco Diaries, the things you forget. And thank you for saying that Luna was in character- she's my favorite character of the series, and, thank goodness, the most fittingly cast in the movies. For that chapter, I had Evanna Lynch whispering in my ear. Everything had to be something Luna could say in her airy voice... and there was a bit of that tragedy, that sad loneliness that I wanted to include- the "a friend!" the "__Daddy made it when Mother went away, and so now someone made it here," and the "She is not as used to being laughed at as I am" and oh so much more. :( Oh, Luna..._

_

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_

September 22, 1997

Dear Journal,

At breakfast, I sat in my old spot again, alone despite my surroundings. Then I saw Milly, Asteria Greengrass (her sister sat next to Pansy now), Tracey Davies, and an assortment of other Slytherins I didn't know. Lowerclassmen?

At lunch, however, I decided to move. Trying to be casual, I simply settled next to Milly before the bulk of the students had filled up.

"Last year, you wouldn't have been able to do that," chirped one girl, with short, straight black hair and piercing, clear green-gray eyes.

"Excuse me?" I said, unfamiliar with such bluntness.

"Half Hogwarts is missing right now, with them many of our dear friends who'd otherwise contend for your spot."

"I didn't get your name?"

"Oh, I'm Katie. Katie Bond."

More students filed in, until there were about eight total crowded around.

"Draco Malfoy," Asteria drawled. "What an interesting appearance."

I wasn't sure if I ought to be affronted or pleased that she recalled my name, but I was saved this choice by Tracey, who smiled widely as she said, "Don't mind her, she's just teasing."

Milly quickly supplied the introductions, "So, guys, as you can tell, this is Draco, and Draco, you've already met Tracey, Terri, and Katie. This is Damian Green, Patrick Asad, and Melanie Vignale."

Melanie, with loose, dirty blond hair and a wide smile, quickly corrected, "I go by Lanie, and Patrick by Pat, though." Pat merely acknowledged my presence with a nod, and Damian, "Don't call me Dame, and are you sticking around, or just visiting for the day?"

"I don't know. I figured I'd take it as I go. So, er, Katie, Lanie, Pat, and not Dame, what year are you guys in?"

Lanie and Milly giggled, and said at the same time, "Notre Dame?" and then, Lanie quickly exclaimed "Jinx!" and Milly replied "Under a roof" with as much glee.

Damian, noticing my utter bewilderment, explained: "Don't worry about them. We never quite understand what they get up to, so we give up trying," and then, turning to the pair, asked tiredly, "Am I true in deducing that 'Notre Dame' will haunt me forever?"

"Yes, dear," Lanie responded.

"Er, anyway... I was saying..."

"Oh, right," Katie said. "Don't mind these spazzes. I'm a fifth year with Terri, Pat and Lanie are sixths and little Dame is a conspicuously tall and post-pubescent fourth year. And we've heard of the _notorious_ seventh year Malfoy, so no need to worry about that."

"_Heard_ about...?"

"Just the usual gossip that permeates these hallowed halls. Death Eater father, you being inexplicably tied up in the Dumbledore business, and the rivalry between you and the BWL." So much for discretion. Katie's bluntness threw me for a loop every time I heard it- I guess I'd have to get used to it, in this tightly knit group.

"He sounds like a sandwich when you put it that way," Terri noted, flipping her blonde hair back so she could dig in to the recently provided lunch victuals.

Tracey, after chewing a bit, "Hopefully not, now wouldn't that be a shame? All our hopes resting on a sandwich?"

"Sh!" Milly whispered. "We're Slytherins- at least supposed to _appear_ evil, to keep the Carrows off our backs."

"After your show in DADA, I don't think you're one to warn of discretion," Tracey replied, as the younger years leaned in. "Aren't you scared of being thrown in detention?"

"Yesterday, I was," Milly said with difficulty. "But I've a week to figure out how to not be. Thank_ God _the Carrows are so blindingly lazy and ignorant and halved their schedules."

"Wait," This was me, joining in. "You're going to do that _again_? Why would you do that to yourself?"

There was a slight pause as they swiveled to look at me. Milly saved the silence with "I'll catch you up later, 'kay?" I noticed that Asteria looked skeptical- was it of me? Of Milly's ability to catch me up?

"I just pretend to be sick. You ought to try it," Tracey advised, while I pondered their predicaments. What was so important? Why couldn't they just torture like everyone else? It would cause less pain in the end- revolting did nothing except make the Carrows want to try harder. "Those Skiving Snackboxes are perfect; the Carrows aren't clever enough to figure out what's going wrong."

"The effect isn't the same."

"Yeah, of course it isn't." It seemed as though the entire group was converging on Milly, except for the ever silent Pat. What was up with him, anyway? Voice cracking, or something? "The difference is, you don't end up in detention." Detention had suddenly become such a daunting term.

"You know what I mean!"

"Yeah," Damian butted in. "She's right, Trace."

"Sorry, Milly, I just don't want to see you hurt."

"You won't have to see. Just keep taking your precious Weasley Wizard Wheezes. I'll tell the Carrows you've come down with a serious case of dragonpox. Madame Pomfrey's cool."

Terri then helpfully mentioned, "That's not going to last all year, unless your dragonpox worsens and you 'die.'"

"Maybe the war won't last all year. Or maybe... maybe we won't have to stay it," Lanie suggested.

Terri began to object, but Pat began to speak, and the silence was instantaneous. "Let's stop talking about politics. We all have different views, and what we do for them is our own business." Patrick gave me an oddly furtive look as he said this in his low, placating voice.

"Pat's right," Katie agreed, who I realized had been silent this entire time. By her earlier forwardness, I would have bet she'd have _plenty_ to say. I was a bit curious, but didn't push it, as I, too, had been entirely silent, and I didn't want my views, which so obviously opposed theirs, questioned. Also, I had a terrible feeling that Patrick's plan had been more about keeping me in the dark about their plots than keeping the peace.

"I'm sorry," Milly apologized. "It's just, ever since the Welcoming Feast, I've felt this urge to go and- and _do_ something."

"What _about_ the Welcoming Feast?" I asked, confused. I just remembered McGonagall's quiet speech (Headmaster Snape was not present- probably to prevent outright mutiny), with a moment to remember Headmaster Dumbledore during which no one dared interrupt. Everything else had been normal, other than the huge lack of people (at the time, I figured it reflected both my loneliness and the danger of the times and how Hogwarts had changed. Now, knowing about the Muggleborn Register, it had a more triumphant meaning...). I had ignored the Sorting and dug in and tried to garner the attention of my old friends.

"The Sorting Hat's song," Terri said, peering at me curiously. "What did you think of it?"

"Seemed normal to me," I said, uncomfortable at my own ignorance. "The tune was similar."

"You didn't listen?" Damian guessed. I didn't deign to respond, but they understood.

"Well, 'The less of its advice you hear/Strengthens that dark kingdom,' which I guess isn't too bad where you're concerned," Terri commented, which I did take offense at. "Hey, don't be so tightly wound about it. Sheesh."

Lanie was burrowing in her bookbag- I noticed with a slight wince (Terri, watching my expression, chuckled slightly) that it was pink. "Oh! Found it!" She tossed me a short scrap of parchment, which I turned to read (this is copied from the paper- she let me keep it for a day)_:_

_As a hat, I've come to fear_

_The time as warned has come._

_The less of my advice you hear_

_Strengthens that dark kingdom._

_Though you wait to meet_

_Your different desires,_

_Whether it's to sort or eat_

_Avoid your funeral pyres_

_By heeding my song's theme._

_This war cannot be won,_

_If we let independent dream_

_Stop this victorious sun._

_Hogwarts is at its best_

_When four houses unite._

_More important than no test_

_Is togetherness through the fight._

_Future, present Slytherin_

_Cunning undermines the foe_

_Hufflepuff, through thick and thin-_

_Never forget the justice you know._

_Fierce Gryffindors must cower not_

_And bravely face the odds!_

_Using wisdom of wars fought,_

_Ravenclaws can sweep the squads._

_Whatever house you end up in,_

_Recall my aged advice-_

_There's only one way with which to win!_

_So to allies, please be nice._

"So that's why there was such silence during the Sorting," I remarked, my eyes whizzing across the paper. "It's as though the Hat expects the students to suit up and train an army!" I did not miss Asteria's soft chuckle, or Pat's widened eyes, but I declined to comment on my observations.

"The poor hat," bemoaned Lanie. "Witnessing all of this despair but forced to sit aside and rely on others to do the work."

"Sounds like a king's job, to me," I joked.

"You would call it that," Asteria said, and I glared at her.

"Hush, children," Milly shushed, "Cease thy bickering."

And with that, the lunch period was over and we hurried to our respective classes.

Draco

* * *

September 28, 1997

Dear Journal,

Time really flies with friends. I haven't flown to my journal since!

Thing is, they won't let slip about _anything_ important. They just discuss literature, classes (not including DADA- they avoid that fastidiously), and make little jokes to each other that I never understand. It's not boring- it's never boring- but it's different.

I don't think that Asteria (or "Terri," as she's affectionately called) or Pat (though he never talks much to prove it) like or trust me much. The former is always making snide comments about my proper pureblooded upbringing or my war allegiances, and the latter keeps looking at me as though I'm some kind of security breach... or idiot.

But you know what? I don't care about _them_, to be honest. Lanie, Dame (heh, I seem to have fallen into that habit), Trace, and Katie seem to consider me _fine_ company.

Yet, I still feel like Pat is some kind of... head of the pack, or something. He's so silent and imposing; his approval, at least, would make me feel more secure in friendship.

Maybe I'm just nervous because my other friendships, which lasted pretty well for five plus years, went down the drain. Well, I flushed them there, but those are the people I want to boast about my Dumbledore-extinguishing endeavors, those are the people who will approve of my Death Eater-hood and what I've been doing this summer. I shudder to think what would happen now, if Milly's friends caught sight of the Dark Mark.

Milly would be okay with it, I think. Milly- Milly's close. She would accept it. And she'd make me see some great wisdom that's been eluding me that would make everything better.

But with these _new_ people in the picture... I keep my robes on and my mouth closed. Having a lot of people at the table means that silence is passed mostly unnoticed.

It's different, like I said, but it's not as bad as it could be.

Draco

* * *

_A/N: So, how was this? The cast has expanded! I now have a list, just for me to make sure I keep their characters consistent. So, six people that Draco didn't really do much with ever have now appeared... :D And may now wreak havoc on his life. Teehee. Just kidding! He does that all by himself._

_Oh, and the chapters may cover a very small timespan. I'm sorry about that, but I like separating these things a lot. Truth be told, the last few chapters and the next several could probably be condensed into one enormous 15,000 word chapter... but then you'd have to wait five weeks or something. I'm giving you a solid word count at least._

_It's only been three days since my last update, after all!  
_


	60. VII: Freedom?

_**Disclaimer:**__ J. K. Rowling, barring the usual editing, usually does not feel compelled to return to her older works after writing them. If she needs to fact check, just in case, it is more convenient to consult a Lexicon or Wiki for quick reference, according to her website._

_I have reread them and will do so countless times as my life proceeds. I am not J. K. Rowling._

* * *

_**A/N: To my magnificent reviews: **__(fyi- there is a REASON I put these responses here instead of individually and privately responding. 1) Just like a teacher might, I like to answer questions in class so that everyone, even the shy people who wondered but quaked to ask, would know the answer. 2) I want to acknowledge and praise those who did indeed endeavor to review. 3) Reviewers will theoretically have to continue my story to see how I responded to their review! BWAHAHA!) With no further ado:_

_violetwild__: Oh dear, it's been too long since I've commented on this. I actually started welcoming you to the readership before I realized that the detailed responses I had been writing had already been written in the last chapter. So I have exactly ONE review to answer, and that I shall do! I enjoyed writing the Sorting Hat's song; I love composing poems far too much._

_Lilthinker15__: Yeah, Hogwarts is just such a cool place to be. It's like in A Very Potter Sequal, the song "Days of Summer" shows how much a part of their hearts Hogwarts is… Like any high school, really. Students are intrinsically a part of it, and especially their last year they feel a connection to it… "__It shows that he's not quite to vicously independent as he wants to be, and he's not quite so grown up as he wants to be." And there you have it, nailing one of Draco's major issues, especially through the last few books- his attempts to redefine maturity in a way that he could fit. _  
_The Sorting Hat's song inspire the DA? I mean, *yes, that was exactly what I intended to do.* You're actually absolutely right, but I hadn't phrased my plan along those lines until you stated it so simply…_  
_For goodness' sake, YES, I am a complete GWTW maniac, too. Yeah, that's not the last time Draco'll be compared to her… the idea is just so amusing. Milly's my favorite, too, but I'm trying to warm myself up to the newer characters as well, because I'll be needing them more and more as the year goes on. And I'm glad you love the newbies, too. I want them all to be likable in their own individual ways. And it's cool that you love Pat. Creepy but cool, hm? Well, I can work with that. I have a big part for him, but that I won't reveal for a while…_

_ACH! You are COMPLETELY correct about the compulsory Muggle Studies. I thought about it for a while, and I think I've found a way to keep the Draco Diaries' previous chapters as they were while keeping to canon. Thanks for definitively alerting me to it- after two people (thank you and sorry __**honourary weasley**__) commented on it, I looked up and realized my dire error. (Sometimes, I'm wary of ffn assumptions due to one incident in which one writer insisted that all Death Eaters went through an initiation during which they raped and killed a muggle family. *Shudders*) I apologize profusely for the inconvenience._

_mjmusiclover:__ Glad you're caught up!_

_LauralHill:__ Woohoo! New reviewer! Welcome! And now this is one chapter closer to being finished._

_mel:__ I love you._

_

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_

October 6, 1998

Dear Journal,

A ninth of the freedom has past.

This year's, which I thought would never come, is drawing closer… My peers anticipate Christmas (at home, away form the Carrows) and wonder at Halloween ("Will there still be a feast?" "Will the decorations be put up?"). The pathetically few first-years sought their elders for advice, but their elders are not all that older…

Milly and her lot revealed something remotely war-related today- at least, the Carrows were involved. "Well, they've wised up," Milly sighed. "Or at least Alecto's got a better work ethic than her brother."

"Oh?" Damian caught on to the urgency first. "How are they stepping up, then?"

"So life can be _worse_?" Terri bemoaned, eliciting a response from me.

"Hell yes," I blurted. "The war in Hogwarts is a lot better than out _there_." My father's screaming figure flashed in my mind, and I repressed a shudder at the strange emotions that followed.

"Are you kidding? We're all caged up here, forced to side," Katie objected. "Every single thing the Carrows force on us is their act of war, and we're not even allowed to fight. Teachers have a dictatorship- and when that's abused, we're going down like Germany under Hitler."

"That analogy was too close for comfort," Lanie scowled.

Pat put a finger up, and the tension was slowly, with effort, released. "There are three things you never, ever talk about," the control-freak announced, this time with a wry smile. "The money you make, your religion, and politics."

"Atheist," Katie cried defiantly.

"Nothing. Inheritance only," I quipped, making an effort not to be left out. Conversation always moved fast with these people- Teddy wasn't one to talk very much, and Vince and Greg never followed any train of thought, so with them there was less of a competition for the next word edgewise. With this clan, it was otherwise.

"Cease," Milly ordered once again.

Damian injerjected, "You're not that much older than us, you know. Must you _always_ silence us?"

"And anyway," Tracey added. "Milly, you had some news that we're going to receive _quietly and passively_?"

"Yeah, _right_," Milly snorted. "I'll save myself the trouble. You're going to hear about it now, in any case." She nodded toward the Head table, and it took self-control to prevent conspicuously swiveling towards Snape's erect form. Only when he spoke, I turned to face him- that man whose house I had resided in, whose standing I so envied, and who had somewhat saved my life.

The silence was instant, and total. The Headmaster coughed, and then began: "Starting next quarter, schedules will be modified. All students, including 1st, 2nd, 6th, and 7th years, regardless of N. E. W. T. eligibility, will be required to take Muggle Studies. Therefore, don't express shock if you have to spend one hour of your endlessly valuable time sitting in a classroom. It's not a mistake, and you may not opt out of the class. This alteration has been very carefully considered by this staff, and it is doubtful that children can trump such reasoning. That considered, don't try." Having expressed his daily measure of disdain, he sat down, and allowed the Great Hall to burst into whispers. My eyes stayed on him, and I saw McGonagall's movements become very tight and rigid- in fact, Hagrid, Flitwick, Sinistra, Vector, and _ all suppressed their varying degrees of indignation and subtlety…

"Who wants to bet that 'this alteration' wasn't actually 'considered by the staff'?" Terri was the last one to speak before Katie noticed the time and we dispersed.

But an interesting lead, don't you think?

And da*n. Just what I need- more Carrow-classes.

At least I might get to talk to Milly more…

Draco

* * *

October 15, 1997

Today I passed the staff room. Few teachers hang around it any longer, ("Filch is bearable, but not the Carrows," Tracey remarked wisely at the spectacle of un-patrolling teachers in the halls; I expressed my bewilderment at catching McGonagall actually smiling a bit when she saw a snogging couple! Honestly, Hogwarts has really gone now.) but I heard voices. A female and a male. Rough and harsh, I as well as anyone tortured with both of their classes- (i. e. everyone except the DADA fails) could recognize who they were.

"You are _not_ the senior deputy of discipline! _I'm_ the older one, you twit!"

"Well, you have so many classes to run that I took off some of the responsibility. I'm more available to provide disciplinary services. And anyway, talking people deaf doesn't match the _Crucios_."

"The only reason you have less to do is because you're too lazy to work. You're not even the one _performin'_ the Crucio! We could place a puppet there enchanted to bark and call names, and no one'd notice the difference!"

"Why you- I instill order into my classes, and will do the same in the halls of Hogwarts. _You_ let that nasty Neville Long-*ss talk back to you, implying our impurity, and who got him for it? Me!"

"Not you, that pathetic Marietta Edgecombe. She throws her cookies every time she picks up her wand. I'm going to Snape."

"He'll only side with me!"

"He can't resist my feminine wiles…"

Of course, all of that with horrible grammar, limited vocabulary, and excessive profanity. I cannot write as badly as they speak in long durations. When I reported this to "the meal club" (Lanie called it that once…), there was only a few minutes of derision at the idea of Alecto's wiles and general disdain for the Carrows in general (if Pat was there, he'd probably be on the verge of one of his "no politics" moments- honestly, he's only a sixth year, and not even a prefect! What gives him so much authority?) before Headmaster Snape, voice dripping with impatience but resignation, stated "Professors Carrow and Carrow have adopted the titles 'Co-Regulator of Disciplinary Measures' and 'Co-Regulator of Disciplinary Measures' respectively. Please recognize their authority as such. Their responsibilities are the same as their previous administrative position, and therefore I will not elaborate here."

The Carrows are too dumb to find the irony in Snape's speech. And the students to cowed to remark upon it. I notice that the rebellious Gryffindors which would probably have commented were missing from their table. Perhaps this was yet another sign of rebellion? I'm-not-going-to-eat-in-the-same-room-as-you? That doesn't really make sense in a strategical standpoint, because the Carrows would simply have a better time exerting their influence over the rest of us…

Well, who am I to wonder at the antics of Gryffindors? Perhaps I should ask Milly…

Draco

* * *

October 17, 1997

Dear Journal,

Milly was putting something strange in her mouth today.

"What's that?" I greeted her, catching her unawares so that she jumped and swallowed whatever it was.

"Nothing," she choked, snatching her wand and opening it with a silent _Anapneo_.

"Because people sputter and cough for nothing," I teased. "Come on, you can tell _me_…" I wasn't used to Milly keeping secrets.

"No, I really can't."

I recognized that look. "This is about Patrick, isn't it?" I demanded quietly.

Milly struggled for words for a moment, which was a strange sight to see. Once again, I wondered- _Who the **** is Pat?_ to leave _Milly_ at a loss for words. Finally, she settled at this. "I told you how pathetic I am four weeks ago… and I still am." She took a deep breath. "In order for me to tell you my secrets, you'd have to tell me yours. And… I don't think I want to know." There was a terrible expression on her face; it was the acknowledgment of some tragedy she had been suppressing. It was pain, clearer than my father's, willing me to torture him for our Dark Lord.

Our Dark Lord is not Milly's.

And somewhere inside, she knew my secrets…

And that meant that if Milly ever got over her "pathetic"ness that she so despised, she'd have to get over me, too.

Draco

* * *

October 23, 1997

Dear Journal,

I finally steeled myself to ask Milly if I could borrow Gone With the Wind. She loves the book so much, and I have missed muggle literature.

"Okay," she said, a bit surprised at my curiosity. "Just so you know, my reading style has… changed a lot the past few years."

"How so?"

"Well, this is a classic. _Classic_. And there's no magic in it whatsoever," she added quickly, lowering her voice so that no neighboring Slytherins might comprehend her.

"Oh," I said, disappointed. It had always been interesting to relate magic to magic… How was I supposed to read this gargantuan novel if it was about an entirely alien world when that despised foreign world of boring muggles?

"But actually, on second thought," she cut off my thoughts. "It might be a good idea. I mean, reading Union literature might be more beneficial in some cases, but… This book is about war. It's about surviving past the mere existence of life. It addresses the human condition in so many ways, and prejudice is addressed, too…" I put my hands together in supplication to Milly, the bestower of books. "Okay. You can _borrow_ it. But be careful. This book is precious," she finally assented, slipping the book gingerly into my hands- no one could see us, and not one page could be bent.

So now I have a large project to occupy myself with. That'll make the year easier…

Draco

* * *

_A/N: Sorry it took so long. It's September, which means SCHOOL. *shudders* I will not stop writing, but I may take me a lot longer to update. Enjoy this chapter, and if you're really looking for good reads, you can always explore my oneshots, Favorite, Sensibly Sinister, and my Favorite Stories list..._

**_Review._**


	61. VII: Curiosity

_**Disclaimer:**__ Oh Rowling, oh Rowling, wherefore art thou Rowling? Perhaps the name is to indicate that you are not, in fact, me, as I have a name that is nothing like Joanne K. Rowling that will not be stated here. In which case its purpose serves you well, for I've no identity crisis there._

_Oh, and the book referred to below is __The Thirteenth Tale__ by Diane Setterfeld._

_**To my reviewers:**_

_honourary weasley- Who am I to oppose your gloating? I was horrifically wrong, I admit it, and I'm still proud that my repair keeps the story to a canonical level without causing me to go back and disrupting the timeline (which is actually pretty important in a diary with dates…) Yeah. Poor Snape- he has to keep up as a Death Eater and not show even a smidgeon of displeasure at the way that Alecto and Amycus run his school. He doesn't have any executive decisions to make for himself because he doesn't want to make the school worse, and if he improves it, then Voldemort will be suspicious. So the changes he does make are only by Amycus and Alecto's biddings- nothing more, for the benefit of the students, and nothing less, to protect the clandestineness of his espionage._

_What you know about Pat? Well, we've met him- he's a sixth year named Patrick Asad, is very quiet but respected when he does speak, and he's one of the six pals we meet in chapter 59. You don't have to remember _all_ of their names- Most are OCs (except for Asteria and Tracey) and will probably not come with a detailed back-story and etc, other than in a general sense…_

_mjmusiclover- Thank you, thank you, as always, thank you._

_violetwild- Yes, always nice to use Draco's arrogance to make life easier. He was born an raised a proud aristocrat and he will always be a proud aristocrat, though he'll have his dark times as always._

* * *

October 28, 1997

Dear Journal,

I guess whenever I start feeling really included in the group. Something has to happen to remind me exactly where I stand.

Not to say that Milly's honesty doesn't haunt me every day. "I don't think I want to know." She doesn't trust me to not fulfill her fears- and worst, her fears are entirely accounted for.

But still, I almost sink into a feeling of belonging, and then something has to jolt me awake…

Tracey and Milly were talking in Muggle Studies, under the cover of a few spells and Alecto's preoccupation with her own rant. The various spells (unique to each who finds one), however, directed only toward Alecto herself and popular among the Slytherin students (the other houses probably don't have access to the ancient pureblood secrets as we do…), did not hinder me in eavesdropping, "which is not considered bad manners in the name of science," as some book proffered by Milly said many years ago. Now preoccupied with Gone With the Wind, I find that other muggle writings come to my mind unbidden as I rediscover the simple joy of escape. As always, the protagonist is a girl, but this time it's quite amusing to watch that Slytherin heart beguile the boys and fool the clucking hens and her own mother of her kindness…

Anyway, Tracey was in tears, but no one else was watching them, caught up in conversation. I had brought a book and was sitting a little a-ways from the pair, but able to listen for they were very caught up in their own matters. The girl cried, softly, always (Slytherins are perpetually careful to be discreet), "Take them- for me, Milly!"

"I can't," Milly's voice sounded pained. "I did it the last few weeks, but Trace, I'm ready now."

"I –hic- don't want you to be hurt. I've only been your friend for half a year, but already I just… _Please_, it's better this way," Tracey pleaded.

"Do you still despise your brother?"

"No. I haven't seen him in a long time, though. He wouldn't speak to me after my Sorting."

Milly was gentle when she said this. "He took the safe route and became a Ravenclaw instead of a Slytherin. But for me, it's too late to take the safe route. This is the best time to act- there's no time to wait for holidays! If Pat's right, then the danger spreads to the parents now. I don't have anyone traceable; I've my father's last name and that won't help them."

"You don't have to be a martyr," Tracey was angry, now. "We didn't start this war; we don't have to fight in it!"

"I'm doing this for me. Trace, I need you to respect that. I- I let you talk me into avoiding it for the last two classes, but- this is something I have to do. Can't let those snotty Gryffindors have all the fun, huh?"

At that point, I stopped listening to process the whole thing. They mentioned Tracey's brother- Roger Davies? He graduated a few years ago… "Take them?" Did Tracey have people that Milly needed hide… or… did it have something to do with the little pills I caught Milly taking a few weeks ago? It can't be the former; Tracey implies that the opposite would be martyrdom for Milly, so Tracey's not asking for a favor, she's asking for Milly to be safe... Because Milly _isn't_ taking the "safe route…" It's "too late" for that? And what about parents? And Pat- he told Milly something that's making Milly do something that will put her at risk. And Milly wants to protect parents, but she's not endangering her own? I suddenly thought of my father and my heart clenched for a brief moment before I recalled that we were on the _right_ side, so he would be okay.

Where had I gotten with this? Tracey wants her to take something that will keep Milly safe from the danger posed toward parents. Milly cannot take such safety measures because it is "too late" and she is "fight"ing in "this war" for herself and needs Tracey to respect that. It's also something that's usually considered "Gryffindor fun." Whatever Milly's decision is, it's upset the usually composed Tracey to public (though technically private) tears.

"Can't let those snotty Gryffindors have all the fun, huh?"

Maybe it's because Gryffindors are involved, but I have a _really_ bad feeling about this…

Draco

* * *

November 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

Last time I bade you farewell, I vowed that the next time I endeavored to write, I would have some sort of clue as to the mysteries of their conversation.

Well, I have more than a clue.

Today, as all alternating Fridays are, is Defense Against the Dark Arts (through the line of offense by torturing your opponents into insanity). It's our fifth class and no one is very eager to force our peers into insanity, which is lucky for the peers in question, who only have to endure an hour of weak and unwilling Crucios which basically add up to two long Crucios from a powerful Death Eater. Two long expert Crucios is usually enough to break most people's wills, but not the stubbornness of these particular Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and I think a Ravenclaw or two. It's weird- I've seen grown Death Eaters wither under my own spell, and yet this pack won't budge!

And Milly did it _again_. This time, the first class she attended in a while (the Carrows never really keep track, though), she just refused. It wasn't the silence and stillness that overtook her the other time.

"Millicent Anne Bulstrode, step right up…"

Her voice wavered. "N-no, thank you."

"That warn't a request, missy," snarled Amycus. As you can see, I'm trying to score more accuracy in depicting his native tongue- the translation is difficult, but when you spend so many hours a week listening to his sister's rants, it gets easier to conjure up. "Now, while I don't go to mech pains to remember you dolts, you've a special place in my memory. Aren't yeh the disgrace ter Slytherin that hesitated the last time?"

"That may have been me, but I'm not troubling to disgrace it any longer."

"Good news, then. Proceed."

Milly gripped her wand very tightly. "No. I won't."

"You know what'll happen ter ya, don'cha?" She was silent. "Well, yer seems to be needin' remindin… Crucio!"

This time, instead of falling to her knees, Milly's face turned white, and she bit her lip very, very tightly. She flailed wildly, crashed sideways onto a desk, but refused to fall to the ground. Finnigan, today's target, gave an encouraging hoarse whoop, goading Amycus into an enraged scream. "SILENCIO, you little ****!" The chained boy fell indeed fell silent, and Amycus smiled a bit at Milly, whose elbow and lip were bleeding. "Now, there was a spell you were going to perform?"

"Not to my recollection."

"Has one little Crucio addled yer brain? Well maybe 'nother'll bring it back!" Amycus raised his wand, and the whole class saw Milly's flinch. But no spell came, just a dark chuckle. "Well, Miss. Bull-strong. You have an hour's detention in two weeks. Same time and place now. A sure shame the likes of ya got inter Slytherin. Luckily, that little false emblem'll be washed out with blood, sweat and tears when we're through. And let _that_ be yer lesson!"

Milly nodded dumbly, standing there, as though her plan had ended there.

"Well, no use in havin yeh join the class if yeh won' participate. Say, yeh'll sit right here, next to Mr. Finnigan, and you get to watch 'im as he screams." She obeyed silently and sat very close to the Gryffindor, who looked entirely astonished by these proceedings. The moment Amycus turned around, I saw Milly quickly snatch Seamus' hand, squeeze it supportively, and then drop it as he began to writhe. Still, I noticed that his pain seemed more… distracted, less powerful when he wasn't entirely focused on the sensations… His head kept flinging toward Milly, and his eyes straining to stay open so that he could look at this snake and try to figure out what it wanted…

So the lesson continued. I performed as usual, and so did everyone else, too dumbstruck to consider doing anything other than status quo.

Tracey was not present to see her friend's pain, the mere thought of which having brought her to tears on Monday…

But I was, so I bore the sight.

After all, in two weeks it'll be worse…

Draco

* * *

November 2, 1997

Dear Journal,

Weird. Hallow's Eve passed without note.

It's the biggest holiday in the Wizarding World, and the only one with meaning besides.

But perhaps the atmosphere of war has silenced the joy, the wicked thrill of power over muggles, and the simpler masquerades that occupy the ones too young or too innocent to understand that emotion.

The atmosphere of war has silenced muggles, mudbloods, and many others- but it silences the very thrills that it fights for. Why silence Hallow's eve, when it could strengthen the cause?

Well, perhaps uncelebrated is an overstatement. It _was_ celebrated with a spattering of unnoticed (or underreported, at least) muggle deaths.

Somehow, it's just not the same.

Draco

* * *

November 5, 1997

Dear Journal,

Another weird thing of note was that, while you'd think such a big thing like Milly's date with detention would be a main topic at the lunch tables, it is heartily ignored.

That dinner, Milly was absent. I felt acutely awkward- Milly was my connection to these people, and when she's gone, why should I be here? They also seemed to resent my presence. Patrick's eyes were sharp to everyone, and the dinner was a bit subdued, though Lanie and Dame tried their best to keep the air falsely bright. Tracey did not eat or drink- just stared at her plate in silence.

That was all it was until Tracey said: "Pat, why do you confide in Milly so much?" It was hurt, and a bit jealous, and for the first time I considered an attraction between Tracey and Patrick. One-sided affection?

"That's between me and Milly," he said, and Melanie and Damian's chatter hushed for his words. Those were the only ones he spoke, though.

And that was the closest it's gotten to touching the subject since.

I haven't seen Milly recently, either. I have a lot of questions to ask her. **Why** was the obvious one, and it was also obvious that I wouldn't get an answer. **What's the danger to parents** is also most likely a blank, though I owled Father about it and am expecting a reply soon. I tried a spell of secrecy on it, similar to the one on you, and I felt that familiar rush of darkness. This time, however, it was accompanied by a brief intensification of the Dark Mark's constant sting, and a pang of deep disgust at Patrick, Melanie, and Milly. Patrick I can understand, but Lanie seems pretty sweet, and Milly… How could I be disgusted at Milly? It's all I can do to keep myself from disappointing _her_ standards; or at least, the standards of behavior that she at least follows.

Such visits of Dark Magic possession are always disorienting, but afterward I can't even remember why to dread them. In fact, I'm sort of… curious. It's one thing to remember things, but it's another to feel it happening. The words I record for posterity seem so small after being so great, when I read them after the bouts of madness. It makes me want to try Dark Magic just for it.

I guess what stops me is the knowledge that such curiosity will be fulfilled in ten days.

Is it awful of me to… anticipate the dreaded Defense classes of Amycus Carrow?

Draco

* * *

November 7, 1997

Dear Journal,

Father's response is as follows:

_Son,_

_I understand it may be frightening to see your classmates' parents taken._

_Rest assured, that is nothing to worry about, as long as you listen to Professors Snape and Carrow and Carrow and remember your Occlumency shields. As for your friends, the former applies as well- advise them thus, and they will be perfectly safe._

_This was a clever concealment charm. Have you been practicing? If so, be careful…_

_Yours,_

_Father_

Well, according to father, Milly's a lost cause. Except she knows that and isn't afraid for her parents. What was it that she said again? Good thing I wrote it down… "I don't have anyone traceable." The Trace is only for seventeen year-olds; in the literal definition, though, perhaps she means it that she has hid her parentage. But why would she? She's not a mudblood- _Milly, a mudblood, _I've never heard anything so absurd! After all, Salazar Slytherin would never let a mudblood into his house, no matter how much cunning or ambition involved. Those Slytherin but sullied souls will have to go to Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw… She _can't_ be a Mudblood. She can't…

And Merlin! Occlumency shields. Over the past few classes, I've completely forgotten about shielding myself from myself. No matter how curious I am, I mustn't let the Crucio sessions feed off of my real energy. …Yet at the same time, I feel like my Crucios were never as powerful when I wasn't thinking about them, and Amycus always praised me for doing it well. Father _said_ to please Professor Carrow, after all.

Oh, I've forgotten- my questions for Milly. I often cut myself off in you, and I apologize. So after two questions she probably wouldn't answer, I still have some more. **What power does Patrick hold over you?** This, I think, might surprise her into answering… And then, the last one: **What does Crucio feel like?**

That one is personal- for her and for me. For me, because I want to know what I've been doing to people. And for her, because she'll have to recall those memories that she probably wants to suppress so badly.

That question is unique and all-important in that I fear to ask, not because Milly won't want to answer- in that respect, it's the most harmless question possible- but because the question is intimate and cruel in its own way, no matter what way I intend it. It will be cruel for her to relive and cruel for me to imagine; Father, you told me to. Father, what strength do you possess, what terrible knowledge do you have that prompted you to _ask_ me to? _The Dark Lord is undeniable._ Is that what Father was telling me? Why do I need Occlumency, then? All the Dark Lord could read is fear and respect… of Father. And then Father would be killed or tortured, because the Dark Lord is an absolutist ruler. And that's why I shield, I suppose. Except that I'm not even that important…

It only takes one mistake among a million correct to cast the wrong spell… Is that it? Mother, you advised me- what did you say? You told me to make my own decisions…

Then I decide not to ask. But the Patrick query can't be the only one I have to offer her. What else must I know, if I see her? Why is it that since I've seen more of you, I've had less time with you? Does Madam Pomfrey know what to do for a Crucio scar? Do you fear Dark Magic?

Are you a mudblood?

"I don't think I want to know," she said to me this year, and it has reverberated in my ears and travelled miles in my skull.

I don't want to either, Milly. I'm too weak for that, just like you…

Except…

Wait a second. Milly accomplished her goal- to defy the Carrows. That's why she said she was weak, wasn't it? So she's outgrown her fear of them, meaning that she's outgrown her weakness… And wasn't her weakness the only thing that kept her by my side?

Maybe it's better that I don't ask her _any_ questions.

The façade isn't perfect, but it's better than anything else.

After all, it's war…

Draco

* * *

November 8, 1997

Dear Journal,

My days are numbered by when Amycus Carrow's classes come to pass. It's the halfway point, right now.

And Gettysburg has come to pass. "A little town," Rhett Butler had said, and then they all started to die. The death-lists. Why did Milly give me this book? It was "too close for comfort," as Lanie once said. Why can't I put it down? It draws me in, I suppose… But oh, surely the author didn't _have_ to kill the ones we knew. Surely she could have just killed some nameless, character-less characters and had Scarlett scoffing at their misery, just as she scoffs at the Cause?

Meanwhile, since the last journal I did ask Milly a question, but it was only minorly risky. Nothing to break the status quo I had become so fond of, just: "Hey, were you in the Inquisitorial Squad last year? I remember you vaguely involved in this scene in Umbridge's office, but…"

"No, not really. I didn't want to be on the squad, but I still wanted to be included on what I saw as the 'Slytherin side,' This was before I met Pat and them. That _last_ time I decided to help you guys out, and held down Hermione Granger- she was always a bit too ostentatious for me to endure. I had a hunch that Umbridge only looked for the Slytherin Snake, not the Inquisitorial I… and I was right. People of her intelligence are easy to read."

"Girls are confusing."

She giggled and added, "I was just a very contrary fifteen year old. And I doubt you can even understand your_self_, boy."

And so that conversation ended pleasantly, and so did that niggling confusion. But knowing how she _used_ to be doesn't help me know who she is now…

"People of her intelligence are easy to read…" I'll take that as a compliment to my intelligence, then- however curious she might be to know, she will never be exposed to my flaws. I'm smart enough for Occlumency, at least.

So I won't let her.

Draco

* * *

_A/N: Hey, this is a pretty good chapter for just a week. But I was serious about being super busy- and this chapter came at the cost of a few tasks that I'm going to have to do now, so the next chapter might be even longer coming._

_I'm pretty satisfied with this one because this got a lot of things accomplished plot-wise, and I managed to cover a longer period of time. The end may actually be in sight! ...Also, just in case you needed reassurance about something I shall not name, I will leave you a cryptic hint: Milly is better at guessing than Draco is, and she understands him better than he does her. And I'm not that __obvious a writer. Maybe I am more obvious than I think I am, but I'm not _that _obvious._

_If that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry about it. All will be clear by the end of Year VII.  
_

_Hope you guys liked it._

_Whatever you think, _**review**_(and donate rice, if you have some time on your hands...)_


	62. VII: Gone With the Wind:Some People

_Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling does not own Patrick Asad, Melanie Vignale, Katie Bond, or Damian Green. So there._

**_Review replies & A/N:_**

_mjmusiclover: Yay for character development!_

_honourary weasley: Thanks! JKR has developed the magical world through only Harry's eyes- surely there are concepts that he hasn't delved into as much that I can borrow and shape... Younger students... Hm... I'll try fitting them in for fun, but it might be a bit more difficult. Draco's pretty self-centered, and often he doesn't really acknowledge the existence of more than the immediate crowd he associates with, his likes and dislikes, etc. I do recall mentioning how weird their view of Hogwarts must be, a few chapters ago- but as you said, the time-between-updates disconnect can distort that. I doubt I'll be able to make more notice of them than that, so I apologize. ALSO- your late review is the one which prompted this chapter, because I realized how long it had been..._

_HEY GUYS! Two things to comment on:_

_For one thing, yeah, I know, it's been too long. 1.5 months- ack! But now I'm going to do a weak attempt at nanowrimoing the Draco Diaries- probably won't succeed at all, but it'll help make headway through it, and that's what counts, right?_

_And another- if your sad at the lack of Loonynamelass' Draco-ness, I did write a bit about him... This is a 500-word drabble about Asteria&Draco's relationship: /s/5900294/44/ Hope y'all enjoy, and please review as always!_

_And FINALLY, FOR ALL THE PEOPLE WHO READ CH 61 BETWEEN 9/18 and 11/6 of 2010, THE DATES HAVE BEEN CHANGED. I had some lame math fails writing that chapter, and about a month passes between two of the DADA classes (the one Milly receives detention for Seamus and then the entry labeling the halfway point are two weeks apart). This is unacceptable to my plot, which I am stoically set on, so I'm changing many of the dates. If you basically ignore the dates and just take it in stride that the story progresses in order, then all else is the same and nothing to worry about._

_**finally #2:** For the eight readers who read it the day it came out... Well, darn, this is embarrassing. My power went out while I typed, so I knew I wanted to fetch this Romeo and Juliet quote for Draco but couldn't. Instead, I wrote myself a note... And then I published the chapter as soon as the power came back. :) So I'm putting in the real quote, and I'm sorry about any confusion/derision/etc. If something is written like _this_ it represents a blank I mean to fill... If you ever see one again, there's a reason or there's a mistake. Have a nice day, friends! OH, AND ALSO- that wasn't the only thing the blackout messed up. A few edits and polishings shall be implemented. No new plot will be included, not to worry...  
_

* * *

-Nov-

-Nove-

-N-

November 14, 1997

Dear Journal,

It's been two weeks, but little has changed. Frequently the urge to grab my journal has overcome me, and I succumb eagerly. Writing is a solace, a haven- when you write it down, life becomes real.

But I have nothing more to write. If I want to write me feelings- oh, no, already penned them there. If I want to write observations- whoops that's last weeks' news… However much I long to relive myself, to cheat living the new in fear of worse to come, there's little more to relive.

Tomorrow, however, is Defense with Carrow, and I've reached an indecision. At dinner, there are only half our number- Pat, Milly, Tracey, and Terri were all gone- and the remainders, noticing such, were quite subdued. It didn't help that many other houses were gone as well... It led to quite a lag, as opposed to the freedom I usually enjoy at Patrick's absence, and so I quickly retreated to the dormitories after consuming what was strictly necessary.

So here I am… And I'm wondering. Mother said make my own choices- she never said it would be easy. Father said follow the Dark Lord- that choice is still difficult to make.

Now Milly is on the line. But after tortured by every single other present person- anyone else, if they want to oppose, have found an alternative engagement. And still, in Slytherin, there are few enough of those... Perhaps it just boils down to Tracey gone, then. Funny. I'd have thought in the house of cunning, the snakes would have gravitated away from unpleasant experiences…

Perhaps it's not as unpleasant, though. Vince and Greg _love_ it- it makes me long to return to them, except that Slytherins are seldom forgiving. Would they? Would they not? Was it even a friendship to begin with? Anyway, that similarity- my guilty pleasure with their open- as well as everything else, would make life so much easier… Able to boast about the Carrows' praise, lounge about as usual… I'd find something to recommend myself, after all. I've always been skilled at that- or perhaps there's just enough to find.

So there's step one of the indecision- a larger question, something I can postpone, I suppose… What am I _doing_ here? Is it my mere curiosity that won't let me, or this specimen of Slytherin yet not observed? Could it be inertia, chaining me to the comfortable present, while time relentlessly trudges onward? Maybe it's because all of the alternatives are just equally frightening, that they balance out the playing field until I'm a quaffle on the ground, not sure which way to roll…

_Merlin_. Quidditch. I haven't thought that word in months… How is that- I loved it so well! Until Potter came and spoiled the game…

I used to have such hobbies, such- I was such a _person_, when now I feel so beaten down and infantile. I wrote poetry for a girlfriend, I played sports with a team, I laughed around my friends, I cursed my enemies, I knew how to dance and eat and insult like a pureblood, I knew how to sleep and taste and think like a man. Draco Malfoy, what has brought this on?

It's too much. I'm turning the page on it, on all of it- call it weak, call it pathetic, call it lame, call it idiotic, I've known it, I know it. But right now- thinking like that just makes me head combust, it brings a heavy light to my cheeks and drags down my eyes. I won't kill myself that way.

After all, it's a simple decision; one that I only need to make tomorrow, at the last moment- and then it will be made, with more or less worrying done.

Really, I need to get a grip on myself.

Draco

* * *

November 15, 1997

Dear Journal,

How anticlimactic.

It was done. I don't even think Milly could recognize me- just another Crucio, after all.

I am not dining in the Great Hall. Let them think I skived the lesson for the Hospital Wing and am still there- let them think I have enough shame to withdraw now- let them think I am weak enough to do it but not weak enough to be a Death Eater, not weak enough to have given Milly my full strength of torture.

I didn't, though. That choice was simple enough. I blocked my mind, I kept as much of myself as distant as possible from the spell- was it any use? I'm not sure. The Dark Magic has enough power on my mind now that it can extort itself from me at will, and I find myself increasingly distracted by bursts of inexplicable anger and hatred.

Heh. I just realized that Draco Malfoy and Dark Magic have the same initials...

But that's just a coincidence, of course.

Draco

* * *

November 22, 1997

Dear Journal,

Spying on my table-mates Episode 1902831748932742- the two fifth years of the group are conversing on their way to Muggle Studies- as I'm on my way out.

Lanie: "We don't know that he even tried anything- and we can't stand judgment if Milly doesn't. Her opinion's the one that matters."

Terri: "Lanie, he's not in it. Even though he wasn't at dinner that day, he was still there the week after-"

Lanie: "Maybe they switch, to keep up appearances!"

Terri: "You're grasping at straws and you know it."

Lanie: "If only we were old enough... Then we'd know."

Terri: "But we're not, and this ****ing war had better been done with by the time we turn seventeen, or I'll end it myself-"

Lanie: "Sh! Pat will _kill_ you if you finish that sentence. If you're still alive."

Terri: "Way to be morbid, but yeah, fine."

I wasn't able to stay near them any longer without being undeniably conspicuous, so that was all I got of their cryptic conversation. It's still more than I was meant to get, which is _always_ a plus. Assuming they're talking about me, Milly isn't mad at me privately either (she's been civil at dinner, but who knows what happens in the recesses of her dynamic heart), and the rest of the group are unsuspecting as well.

It also appears that although I am clueless, Lanie and Terri are also relatively so, and anyone who's not seventeen is automatically "not in it." Of course, knowing what "it" is is a different matter, and what being absent from dinner has anything to do with it is also a disadvantage.

Still, I am content with my pittance of reassurance.

Draco.

* * *

November 29, 1997

Dear Journal,

Here I am, looking forward to another "uneventful" Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Who am I kidding- Milly's certainly not going to just sit down and submit after one mere hour of unceasing torture.

Today, she didn't even have to speak. She stood there, gazing dully at Neville Longbottom's limp form. Amycus understood it quickly (surprising, with his intelligence...) and merely said, "Well, Miss Millicent, I serposin' yeh di'nt learn yer lesson the firs' time? You all are WIMPS!" He bellowed, suddenly enraged at the class. "Not even tryin' anymore, are you! Well, little girl, you're going back 'round until these weaklings' curses finally penetrate that thick skull." He walked up to her, and put his dirty hand on her shoulder. "Do you remember what it felt like?" he hissed in her ear, and she could not repress her shudder, though she visibly tried. "Well, you have two weeks to con-teem-plate. Go!" he ended, using his arm to shove her onto the ground.

Still, she stood, still she went to the back of the classroom and sat, not making eye contact with anyone or noise that insects could hear.

I couldn't help it. I confronted her after class, corralling her into a secluded corridor to speak.

"What do you think you're doing, Milly?" I demanded, my anger showing. "Are you so invulnerable that Crucio doesn't hurt you? Does Crucio feel like a little pinch to the great and gallant Millicent Anne Bulstrode?"

She was rendered speechless for a moment with incredulity at my last rhetorical question. When she spoke, it was with a quiet and hostile tone. "Do you really think that? It's worse, I promise you. Empty are promises, but words... I... Every mention, every perception… every time you see someone in pain, or read about a torture device, or subconsciously catalogue the details of the goblin wars from Professor Binns… every time you imagine someone you dislike being hit by a quaffle, every single weapon you've ever seen or fathomed- knives, scissors, ropes… used in every way to test the limits of your imagination or experience. Combined with the intents and the angers of the caster- it's their creativity that hurts the worst." She was silent for another moment. "Believe me. I'm not invulnerable, Monsieur Malfoy."

One question answered, at least. I felt brave enough to follow up. "Then why would you...?"

"I think I have to," she said. "Urgh, that sounds stupid when it comes out..."

I sighed. Clearly I wasn't getting any closer, if she was going to risk sounding stupid to avoid giving me a meaningful answer. "Okay, sorry for starting an argument."

And it was as though the conversation never happened.

Draco

* * *

December 7, 1997

Dear Journal,

I wonder if the Carrows will celebrate Christmas.

I'll be gone, at any rate, home- if the Malfoy Manor will still be that.

Now the snow falls, indifferently white and pure. The air chills, but that is unnoticeable.

Draco

* * *

December 13, 1997

Dear Journal,

It's worse watching the second time.

Milly seems a bit more practiced. Her screams are more ready, her movements are freer. _Resistance is futile._ She had fourteen days to prepare; fourteen days to anticipate. Anticipation was pain. Did Count Rugen say that, from some muggle book so long ago?

I was unable to block out my surroundings. Everything was so horrible- and Dark Magic, my counterpart, my twin brother, loves to gorge on my discomfort.

Milly's eyes were open. She wanted to see her attackers. Her reaction after my turn was no different from after anyone else's- no breath to spare on disappointment, no breath to spare for betrayal.

"This... shall/Now seeming sweet, convert to bitterest gall." Those muggles have a quote for everything, don't they?

Draco

* * *

December 15, 1997

Dear Journal,

The group was far less restrained today. Patrick and Milly were missing yet again.

Terri, as I arrived, said to Lanie: "Told you so."

The latter just shook her head defiantly, and I settled into my seat.

"Draco, do you know Luna Lovegood?"

"I don't think- wait... The name is familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it." I was lying. That was the bint who wrote in my journal last year, wasn't it? Still, why make known my association with that insanity personified, right? It wasn't the least of the secrets I was keeping from them at any rate... Oh, why justify myself to _you_, a packet of papers that would be blank and harmless if not for me! I did what I did and there it is.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "I hoped you might know more. But she's this Ravenclaw from my year, and-" she leaned in and lowered her voice yet more- in a Hall of Fearful Whispers, the norm is already quite quiet, "- she was taken."

"Taken?"

"Her dad runs this newspaper, and it printed pro-Potter sentiments. To make him stop, the Carrows and their lackeys kidnapped her. She's probably on her way to Azkaban, as hostage."

"Oh no, not another one..."

"This war has been too quiet. We _need_ to up our resistance."

Too quiet? If it were quiet, then the Death Eaters certainly wouldn't be having such a hard time. _Both sides are at hard work in this war!_ I thought indignantly, though declined to mention it as that might just raise their suspicions a bit too much and shed some light on who I really worked for...

"What can we do?" Lanie asked, eyes wide with urgency. "We're kids- we've still got the Trace on us, for goodness' sakes!"

"Exactly, they'll underestimate us-"

"The walls have ears, Asteria," Katie interrupted. "Remember Patrick."

Dame piped up, now. "But she's right. If Pat was here, we wouldn't be able to talk about this at all. Just because we're not old enough doesn't mean we've any less desire to help. The _other_ houses get to-"

"Sh!" Katie said, unhappy to be serving as a veritable Patrick. "Guys, really, calm down. What else are we supposed to do, anyway? Rallying is tried. Defiance is tried. We have the numbers, but not the organization." Terri opened her mouth to interrupt, but Katie said, "Word economy. Don't speak if you don't have a _real_ idea."

"How about this, then..." Dame, surprisingly, spoke again. "Why do _we_ have an age limit?"

"We're not as trustworthy. We have more of a probability of being related to a Death Eater," here, I squirm uncomfortably, "more exposure to Imperius Curses, more cunning and ambition to threaten the stability... It's just the way it is. That's what the Sorting Hat's for," Terri said, apparently the only one who was not perturbed by whatever exclusion their ages were providing. Tracey was silent throughout all of this, but she's been silent and moody for nearly a month now. I was silent, too, for they had forgotten about me and I fell into the category of "not as trustworthy" twenty thousand times over.

I'm tired of detective work. I hardly care at the revelations this conversation could lend me- I'm too exhausted to ponder it today.

Still, I write it for posterity, and so a more eager version of Draco Malfoy can read it.

Draco

_

* * *

_

**"What mattered it that the earth was red, the moon retained her whiteness. Such is the indifference of heaven." **Les Miserables by Victor Hugo_. Because reading the unabridged version has to count for something!_

* * *

December 17, 1997

Dear Journal,

Melly died?

Be grateful for that speeding car, Margaret Mitchell.

Draco

* * *

December 19, 1997

Dear Journal,

Tracey speaks only to Milly, I just realized. Today, she said to her two words: "_You're leaving?_"

"Yes."

"Thank Merlin. Thank _God_," Tracey said. Oh, six words. Pardon me. Then they embraced, and Tracey went back into the girl's dorm. Milly and I were alone in the common room, and her trunk flickered green in the firelight.

I mouthed "What?" to her, only because the word was stopping at my throat. I hadn't really spoken to her since Friday the Thirteenth...

"Yeah, erm... I'm leaving. Graduating early, you could say," she said awkwardly. "Sorry about that."

"You're _running away?_" ripped from my lips. "After everything- talking about _NEWTS_, talking about _Gone With the Wind_, talking about hope and strength and- and... You're running away? Away from the irony? Where the hell are you going to go? Where's safer than Hogwarts? Where's better than Hogwarts? It's a war everywhere! Here, you're at least safe if you can follow the rules. Couldn't you try to- What I said to you Friday wasn't meant to-" I stopped, took a breath, started over. everything was coming to my head and I was mad at everything and the strange part of my mind was telling em to Crucio her until she changed her mind. I gathered my thoughts and ordered: "Milly, don't go."

"I don't have a choice..."

"Of COURSE YOU DO!" My stance shifted; my rage was building, this was no civil conversation in which she could teach me and calm me. "EVERYONE HAS A CHOICE!" I regurgitated Mother's words feverishly. The right wisdom from the right person, something to make her see...

S***, Luna Lovegood was carted away, and she's a -c-ing pureblood! You really think I'm going to stay?"

I couldn't answer that. Somehow, I just couldn't find a reason for her to stay- a Slytherin reason, a reason that could sway a cat from a tree. Why did I even want her to stay? Hell, I'd spent the most of the last two years avoiding her, and spurning her attempts at friendship. I hardly lent her a word of care even while we were friends... It was mostly book-buddying and teasing. All I did was keep her in a social system that she hated. So what was this stupid thing that made me want her to stay? There was a part of me that felt like I'd go to the depths of the Department of Mysteries before I could honestly answer that question... So I only said everything that I knew in that moment. "Yes." This then seemed inadequate, so I tacked on, "Be brave." Stay with me.

"So you'd have me turn into some kind of Gryffindor to serve your purposes? Mr.-I-have-no-will-than-my-masters. Look, maybe you haven't noticed in Carrow's Crucio-sessions, but some people get the practice and some get the scars, if you get my meaning." She yanked up her sleeve in a defiant motion, revealing a red weal on her forearm. It was only then that I recalled the last hour we'd spent in the Carrow's class... She shook back her hair impatiently, a familiar gesture of irritance. She didn't care for clothes or hair- striving to differ from those other girls, always, unconsciously. "Sorry I'm not as obedient as your little house elves. The bastard-daughter of a wizard without a care for his muggle victims doesn't learn manners on the streets. So maybe I should be giving you a long, poignant farewell, but this is it. Bye. Catch you on the flip side."

And if I'd had the brain, before she walked away, I should have said, "Milly, you take my breath away." So instead I said it afterward, with sincerity unknown to Salazar nor Godric. I searched my mind for her answer, but all I could think of was "That's your misfortune" and "My dear, I don't give a -."

And it's when I start comparing myself to the flawed female protagonist of a muggle romantic masterpiece that you know there's a problem.

Draco

* * *

Who am I to have stopped her, anyway?

I know what she would've said. Or forced out.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

But I didn't stop her.

Draco

* * *

December 20, 1997

Dear Journal,

Well, the Express leaves today. Milly couldn't wait for it, of course- the train is the easiest way to nab the rebels.

I get to go home- where everything is a bit more straightforward. Now I know why Occlumency is so vital- the Dark Lord could take any one of my friends, and he could doubt my own allegiance.

It will be refreshing to have less subterfuge. There is no other choice than the Dark Lord at home.

At least, that's how I remember it.

Draco

* * *

**_A/N II_**_: Right, so let's all agree for a second that Draco _ for hating Margaret Mitchell for killing a character. No matter what someone writes and publishes, no one has the right to wish death on anyone (the "speeding car" was a crass reference to Margaret's unfortunate demise on August 16, 1949). Respect the dead as you respect the living._

_The reason I still included something that disgusts me so much is that it fits. It fits Draco... He doesn't even respect the living that much, really. He's so self-centered and has a very small sense of empathy, rising out of his bigotry (her being a muggle probably doesn't help matters). He's vindictive, he's willful, he's a spoiled brat. Of course, he's malleable, he's getting better, but that entry is supposed to show that he still can't qualify for a _good_ guy._

_Not yet, anyway. ;)  
_


	63. VII: Seeking the Season

**_Disclaimer_**_: I watched a movie on Friday, November 19th. It was epic. I did not write the literature it was based on (too long for me!) and I did not have anything to do with the production of the film. That film was not Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It was Les Miserables. I am going through a little Les Miserables phase, so please do excuse me on that count._

_I definitely must see DH soon, though! You know, I often participate in speech competitions for fun. In one event, Impromptu, you get, two minutes before your five minute speech, a random policy ("Should the SAT be abolished?"), an abstract ("scar"), or a quote ("Today is the tomorrow we worried about yesterday"). My policy topic was this: _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Premiere._ I structured my speech so that my thesis was basically: "It's interesting that DH Premieres shows up next to 'terrorism' and the 'economy.' The reason for this? Harry Potter is simply that AWESOME, because of it's universality, the themes it provides, and the creativity of it's *cough* imagined world." Then I proceeded to describe in detail how awesome Harry Potter was.I placed well in the tournament, by the way. And by my RFD (reason for decision), apparently my judge was a Harry Potter fan, too. :D  
_

(NOTE: The above disclaimer was written November 20th. I DID see Deathly Hallows, and they MUST GO BACK AND MAKE 4, 5, and 6 TWO MOVIES, TOO. Clearly, this is what HP has needed all along- more time!)

_**Review replies**:_

_TragicSlytherin: 1) As for the "yes we [Slytherins] are [underrated]," I would like to respectfully say that I'm a Ravenclaw. ;P 2) Yes. One of the interesting aspects of Rowling's writing is that her perspective is at first in third person omniscient (Harry wouldn't know the details of Vernon's job and such), but then slowly shifts to third person limited. When people take Harry's word for EVERYTHING, it's a bit :(. A beautiful part of the series _is_ that Harry's a character, he's a kid, and as he grows up the reader stumbles in his mistakes. A lot of people aren't aware of narrator bias, especially because Harry is often a very inquisitive and observant character by nature... The Draco Diaries is interesting to me to write because I'm not _removing_ the bias, I'm dramatically shifting it to occlude and include almost the opposite of what Harry showed us. 3) Yay! I love new readers, and especially as you're a **reviewing** reader! Thank you SO much for your comments! And so, this next chapter is dedicated to you._

_Miss Troll Queen: If you're here, than thanks! Hope you still are finding it awesome. :)  
_

_Darn it, this is going to be harder to write... Milly's gone. :( But she had to go._

_Also, no way Imma be finishing this by the end of the year as my one-year-younger self promised. Sorry, folks. I have Strep. And my pacing of work has really slowed down, with a lot more detail to boast of, I think. I think that's an improvement, too. If y'all have an opinion, totally express it in a review... Yeah. Let's get to it then:  
_

_

* * *

_

December 21, 1997

Dear Journal,

Mother is affectionate, and Father is less distant in his greeting than ever, enveloping me in a quick embrace.

I daresay, my handwriting has improved. All of this introversion pays off, I suppose... I'm creating my own beauty in the little that I do have.

Thank you, journal.

Draco

* * *

December 22, 1997

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord is not affectionate. In fact, he is abroad, on business. Good news, is it not?

Of course, his mutts remain in this house. I'm sure they're loathe to leave our luxurious residence, even at its reduced state. They aggravate me so much; talking so offhandedly about death and... everything I don't want to believe in, that Milly didn't believe in.

I try to stand their impudence, but my patience wears thin.

Because a Malfoy's pride never will.

Draco

* * *

December 24, 1997

Dear Journal,

Presents! How did it escape me to get presents? I didn't give them last year, but I was at school... and now I am home, and without any excuse. What would Father and Mother expect from me? What disappointment will mar their face? I haven't gotten much poorer, or busier, since the war started...

Maybe they'll just accept my lack of Christmas spirit?

Ugh. I don't know. I feel like I hardly know my family anymore, anyhow.

Draco

* * *

December 25, 1997

Dear Journal,

Perhaps change is not always bad?

This time, for Christmas, there's not much I particularly want... Nothing they could give me, at least. I would go on, but that could make this journal entry unbearably cheesy, and that seems fairly inappropriate for the ironic Christmas we are having here.

What's Christmas for, anyway? Why do we even celebrate it, if it's just some muggle thing that they use in a series of rituals and etcetera to explain both "miracles" (a. k. a. magic) and to justify the evilness of "witchcraft" (ALSO k. a. magic)?

Restless with illogicality,

Draco

* * *

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord is upset. Something about Harry Potter. Why does _that_ name sound familiar? *wills journal to understand sarcasm*

* * *

Dear Journal,

Ennui can be an evil thing

To blight a Christmas day.

Until you think that anything

Would serve to fill the day.

Ennui invites more darkness to

try tempting me with strange.

Oh nothing else sufficed in lieu;

I must have been deranged.

Imprints of torture never leave,

They badger and remind.

As though I were knee-deep in debt,

My jailer done with kind.

And so I walk, mad thoughts to spare,

including sly ideas.

For there could be no harm in there,

Won't even hurt my peers,

If I just tried a Crucio

onto the harmless wall

Then I thought- barbarics, go!

Oh how that thought would fall.

And as I turned the corner then

I saw a ghastly sight.

Nothing new; just filthy men

Increasing Malfoys' plight.

With disrespect for all nice stuffs,

the home Manor once was,

They sat in squalid misery,

In liquor find a "buzz."

Then that peculiar dark magic,

exposed to as I am,

Came over and my wand was out

The dark mark on my hand.

A man did writhe on the soft floor

I wanted him to kiss.

For every additional gore-

_so he would learn from THIS._

It's then come back my senses fled,

With humanness and friends-

What had happened in my head?

What means was this and for which ends?

So madness, madness, drown me in.

I want the circle to complete.

With magic threes, the dark can win...

And Draco Malfoy victorious and beat.

* * *

That's strange.

I don't remember writing that.

Or rather I do, but I just don't remember _writing_ it as me... As though the memory were someone else's. The poetry- the fourth, perhaps?, poem I have written. Except the last line is wrong. It's got eleven syllables instead of six... Though if you keep it iambic and make it "vic-tor-yus," it would be ten... Still more than six.

It makes everything else seem more "complete," as crazy-poet-Draco-Malfoy might have said.

Oh well. I'll tell you in the morning. Right now, I just want to think.

Happy Christmas.

Draco

* * *

Three days after Christmas

Why did I change the date?

Well, I felt like it. But if I were a ten year old in pre-Hogwarts pureblood school (where you learn the blood hierarchy and how to meet the inch requirements of your Hogwarts professors), I would have to analyze it and conclude that Christmas was clearly such an important date to this young Draco Malfoy that he's basing his date after it.

Of course, I'm not in preparatory school anymore at _all_, and I know the truth. Still, my interpretation was pretty insightful in spite of that (and no, I'm not being bias... I don't think, at least) and right about one thing.

Phew. Um, how to begin?

I tried to kill myself.

Well, first, I Crucio'ed some random D. E. who spat on what used to be Mother's favorite rug, because I sort of... missed the mysterious dark feeling that Unforgivables offered, like it was alcohol or something. Then I realized what I was doing, fled to my room, wrote down that poem, and decided that having so enjoyed Imperios to Madam Rosmerta and Crucios to the Hogwarts insurgency, there was one last high which would surely be the highest of all.

_Avada Kedavra_. And this, I whispered to myself, my nerves tingling with anticipation. I wanted to live long enough to feel myself die. That final curiosity, satisfied.

It took a lot longer than I thought; and then I realized it wasn't taking. I would have to _really_ mean it this time, _really_ want to follow through. I mustered all of the darkness, and it felt so _good_ to be able to feed it, rather than spurn it and rein it as though it were some shameful flaw rather than part of nature.

_Avada Kedavra_.

I had not died. Was it my skill at Occlumency? Was my skill interfering? No matter. Was I once again _TOO WEAK?_

_Avada Kedavra.  
_

I'd never heard of someone killing themselves by that spell, actually. Maybe it's just a weird magical instinct. But muggles kill themselves all the time; and wizards could use muggle methods. Oh, I do recall the Bloody Baron edging next to a relieved blond eleven-year old, hissing the tale of his death. It was a romance, and he had killed her, and so he killed himself.

Is this a romance in which I killed Milly? Milly, Melly- so the same. They have died; they are at least dead to me.

Irrelevant questions. In a moment, nothing would be relevant. I climbed onto the windowsill, and took my Occlumency and tried, categorically, to turn off everything. I was willing to fill myself with that final darkness (oh! how excited it was! oh! how exciting that power was!) and rid myself of that final guilt of autonomously torturing another person. Before I could be totally corrupted, I wanted to complete that corruption... On my own terms, I suppose. I turned off my eyes, and my skin... continued with my senses, and ended with my legs.

Feeling nothing was so interesting. Now, time to die.

But... I wasn't, not yet. I opened my eyes, the Occlumency shields collapsing in confusion. On my hand was an arm. From that arm extended my father. I saw in his iris my own reflection, as often happens. And I stood there; I looked panicked, scared, angry, hunted. My careful hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat. My eyes were red as though my tears. My lips trembled in that reflection, and then I decided to stop looking at his eyes.

Then he took me into his room, and locked the door, and said _Muffliato!_ which registered as slightly familiar... but I couldn't place it. "Snape and his tricks," Father said to himself, and turned to me- his eyes held me there, as though he feared I would run out the door and jump out the window at any moment.

His eyes held me there.

They held.

He ran up to me, and I thought he was going to slap me- hit me and tell me why I'd been stupid, that I was a disgrace to the Malfoy name and that I was lucky he wasn't as archaic as some purebloods that would bring out the house-elf whip. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me, and I wondered: _Is he going to suffocate me, finish the job better?_ No, Azkaban had enfeebled his grasp if that were the case; he would never succeed_._

Then I realized he was hugging me.

Then I fainted.

And then I woke up, darkness gone, and my diary in my hand.

Was it there the whole time, or had Father put it there? I cannot trust my memory.

Draco

* * *

December 31, 1997

Dear Journal,

Well, I suppose I ought to get back with you.

You know, I've never really had a pet before. I mean, sure, there was Dobby and there was Eric "the Eccentric Eagle Owl," but they didn't really count. They were more like servants, for all practical purposes. It's interesting, when I've always been so rich and and only child and etcetera, that I wouldn't have a pet when even Ronald Weasley once did (though I haven't seen it since on the first Hogwarts Express ever...).

Father was very frightened about what's been happening with the dark magic influence. "I should not have expected you to be able to handle this yourself. You're hardly seventeen."

He gets credit for the hug, but his communication skills need work. I bristled at this remark. "I'm old enough to take care of myself _and_ Mother! Since you were _gone_ last year and-" I stopped. There was nothing to add, really, after the and. He had been gone and had fallen from invincibility.

"Now I _have _returned as Master of the house and deserve your respect."

"Master? Ha! The Dark Lord is the master, now. Maybe he's always been."

"Draco, stop." He sighed. "I am offering my assistance. I do not want to see you driven to the extremes of my sister-in-law." The one who ran away? Oh, nevermind. Aunt Bella, duh. "Thus, I am going to show you a spell to counteract the negative effects of Dark Magic."

"How do you know a Light spell?"

He seemed surprised that I had come to this deduction so quickly. "I picked it up in Azkaban. Very shady characters, I warrant you. It's called the Patronus Charm."

"But you can't have a wand in Azkaban! Otherwise, everyone would use Patronuses until they dissolve." I remembered this from that shabby werewolf teacher, so many years ago.

"I learned the theory, and made sure to hold it as a negative thought- 'I know how to defeat them but still will never be able to use it' -and the Dementors couldn't take it from me." Then he began his instruction. It was surprisingly simple- a straightforward wand movement, two easily pronounceable words... And a positive memory.

"What?" I said at that final component.

"A happy memory or thought. Originally, wizards only tried to do that to counteract the Dementors, but the Patronus Charm channels and amplifies that thought until it actually stands a chance." And so, we tried. In his bedroom, _Muffliato_'ed, we tried to summon anything. Father got streams of pure, white light. "I'm not very good at it yet," he said. "But every time it's a little brighter, and every time it's a little warmer."

I, who couldn't get even a wisp, didn't berate him. "What do you think of?"

"My wedding night." I made a face. "We spent the night talking," Father said sternly. "We had only met a few days ago." Still, that was unhelpful.

I sifted through my memories, but it was difficult. More often than not, they included an idea of vengeance, of schadenfreude, and had attached to them the unpleasant thought that winning the battle did not prevent losing the war. Then, I thought of my first Quidditch victory. That, at least, wasn't _too_ harmful. A little bubble formed, and popped right after.

"Good progress!" Father said; his eyes were still focused on his own attempt, as though he could will it to take shape. He sighed again, and said: "I wonder often if what hinders me is that the Dementors have taken such a measure of my happiness..."

I frowned slightly at that, but Patronuses were private work, and both of us didn't really want to strike up a jolly conversation. It was akin to using urinals- don't acknowledge anyone else.

I don't know how it happened- maybe I was thinking of times with Pansy, or times with Milly, or something... But suddenly, the bubble erupted into something enormous, should have been blinding except it wasn't, pale and only there for a moment but unmistakable to me. _Draco... Draco, the dragon..._

Nothing else can compare to that moment of triumph- wholly for myself, for the simplicity of finding a whole again. It was not in competition, not in distaste, there were no mixed feelings... Even feeling so inf/superior, always in denial, always so afraid- it was like this dragon inside me had come out to tell me that I was not despicable. Not by anything I had done, but by that I could get a dragon to keep me warm.

Patronuses aren't who you are.

They're who you need.

And when I make the dragon again, it is to the thought that it came to me once- "the circle to complete" but _the dark does not win._

Draco_  
_

* * *

**A/N:** I just wrote you guys a pretty decent poem, under a 100 degree fever and etc. Jeez. Madness ensue indeed.

Well, okay then: suicide. Rather than lecture you, I'll just tell you that you're all very precious and please don't kill yourselves, kaaay?

And you know what could make you even _more_ precious? If you bothered to drop a review. Just. Sayin.

Finally: _Jolly Christmas!_


	64. VII: Regression

_**Disclaimer:** If I was JKR and writing was my real job, I would have a way better work ethic._

_**A/N:** With that apt disclaimer, I am so sorry it's been so long since I've written! Plain busyness (wow, that looks like a misspelling of business), and when I did have free time I'd spend it on my ever expanding drabble collection (check it out please), and I was a Third Place Winner to a delightful ldws competition, so I wasn't doing lame things. I just wasn't doing _this_. So I'm getting back on track, and I'd even forgotten my document-naming format when I thought "OKAY TIME TO WRITE ZE DRACO." _

_First I'll respond to the reviews I've gotten in these almost four months:_

_**The Cold Flame**: Glad you think so! Hope you've still managed to follow, and I'm not quite sure how I didn't get to you earlier. Perhaps ffn malfunctioned, iono._

_**emcee**: PHEW! O.O Three friggin pages. Thank you so much for your involved reading, and I'm pretty sure that I did manage to review reply... As I don't have any record of them, I'll run through them again, as extra acknowledgment and just for fun. :) 1) Ha, I've given up on Americanisms now. ;) 2) Ooh, thank you. I like that idea. Hear that, guys? It's not anachronistic, it's Dark Magic! 3) Can't expect Draco to have your perspective. "Oh, come on, couldn't they have kept winning at least long enough for me to enjoy it?" 4) Sorry, I'm a person who gets lost during xkcd's. But I can get it by context clues. ^^ 5) Well, good thing I had him pass those OWLs, then. 6) Hm, yes, after all, might as well milk the opportunity to protect the Philosopher's Stone. And yeah, I did a lot of weird things with Milly. 7) Salazar probably wouldn't be able to say anything intelligible, I'd imagine. 8) That's why perspective-switches are so fun! 9) Todd the Terrible is my invention, but I bet I'm not the first to invent it. 10) Hehe, yes, if only I could just past long rants about my favorite passages of my favorite books. That would be amazing. 11) Ah thank you. 12) Not altogether sure what you're referring to anymore, but I've always begrudged wizards **Accio**. Seriously? Why do they still have problems? 13) I think I gave the answer that Draco probably didn't know that Voldy had grabbed Bella... 14) Yup! JKR's brain must be crazy to do all of that plot extension. 15) Well, in all fairness, Madam Pince probably has a hard time distinguishing between books and people by now. 16) Luna is my favorite character. So sad and so strong. 17-19) All good and correct, methinks. 20) Oooh, that's nice. I'll put that quote here, just because it's nice: "Magic always leaves its traces." It's based off of canon, of course. 21) YES GREEN YOU GOT IT. 22) No, I haven't read it, but it sounds interesting. Hm... 23) Nice streak! Dang, girl. 24) Thinking Hairspray's "You're Timeless To Me." 25) Don't worry about disclaimers deterring me, they take me about a second to think out and five to type. 26) Well, then I won't tell you if you tell me not to. ;) 27) Whoo! One of my favorite books. So beautiful. Some say it's totally racist, and they're right, but to them I say DUH anyway. It's that place in time. 28) It was deep because it's something I've realized. All the thoughts we're afraid to say, all the memories that just never come up in conversation... Draco has lots of flaws, but if I've given him one non-flaw, it's that he writes these diaries. Also, hurrah for OCs! 29) I, having seen dozens of movies since 1975, quite agree that the animation was breathtaking._

_**Mel**: I love you._

_and now... time to start!_

* * *

January 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

Happy new year!

Are you feeling it?

I am,

Draco

* * *

January 2, 1997

Dear Journal,

I'm not really sure what I'll do when I get back to school. I don't think I'll be able to look Pat or Lanie or Dame or them in the eye after everything that happened. And Milly's gone... she was my only connection to that lot, really. I was always the intruder, holding onto that tendril, and now...

And now I'm being pushed out of the outcasts. Well, so what? What do they matter? They were the scum of the school, who I stuck to only because I wasn't sure what else to do. I have a dragon in my wand, nay, in my spirit- and that dragon will drive me to victory. How dare they try and pull me down! There are _real_ Slytherins to choose from, who cower from and respect the Dark Mark on my arm. I shouldn't be at the edge (_of a windowsill, trying to fall_), I should be in the center!

I was, and the world can't be so messed up that I can't get back to that. After all, this is everything I've ever wanted, isn't it? Our side is in power, and we are only down because we have lain down for them.

Yes, Father taught me my Patronus, but he hasn't the power to do it himself. He can't lead our family back into glory, and so I can take the mantle. I did last year, didn't I?

And now I'll hold my own, I'll...

The Dark Lord is summoning me.

Why is he summoning me?

Cursed pen, why do you mock me so,

Draco

* * *

January 4, 1997

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord congratulated me on finally mastering the skill he had worked so hard with me on. "Perhaps you are even deserving of another quest, dear boy?" said He, and I heard the mannerisms of Albus Dumbledore through those last two words, that vocative moment. Was He mocking me, was it intentional, had I gone insane?

I was surely imagining it. It's better for the Dark Lord to never acknowledge Dumbledore's existence, so he can pretend that he was _always_ the greatest living wizard. "If there is anything left to do," I manage, staring directly at his chin. "Your takeover seems immaculate to me, sir."

Seeming satisfied with my response, he rested back on his chair and stroked the peculiarly armrest, which moved, and, to my shock, turned out to be the head of Nagini. Three hundred pounds of muscle and venom and teeth, feet away from my pale, supple skin. He laughed softly, in an eerily high voice. It would be funny, weak, if it were not so unsettling. One would expect, with his power and coldness, a great deep voice of strength- but always cold and soft and high and deadly... A snake that can always, always take one by surprise. "Very well. That will be all for today," he finally decided.

I was allowed to leave.

And I did.

And was that right? Did I want to avoid involvement with him, or rise to power in his ranks? Every choice seems strange, every moment futile, but I realize that I do not mind my parents' strategy. The Malfoy's role has never been to be number one; it has to be comfortable and proud. Some, like the Dark Lord, have great ambition to reach with cleverness- but we seek a clever ambition instead.

And so we continue with this strange nothingness. It's survival; we are not Death Eaters, we are not the Order of the Phoenix. We want a place in the future for ourselves, one that is better than this one. When all of the mudbloods and muggles are gone, perhaps it'll calm down, and we will be safe. After all, the Death Eaters are the more terrible part of the war, but the war is the horrible part. When there is nothing left to fight, we will be safe.

At the same time, we do not want to be part of the horror of war. We want to be _there_ when the Dark Lord lays Potter to rest, but we do not want to sacrifice for it.

We do not want to have to be Gryffindors.

Realizing that, I don't think we have to,

Draco

* * *

January 5, 1997

Dear Journal,

Now that I've understood my family's place in this war, I have to leave them for Hogwarts.

Meaning I can't leave off my winter homework any more. Honestly, it's Christmas break! Our teachers are mad over N. E. W. T. s, probably. Reminds me of a conversation I had with Milly, once, about them.

It would be all right if I could at least believe that this stuff will come in handy, but _honestly_. Professor Binns, do you really expect History of Magic to matter when the Dark Lord rewrites it? Goblin wars are beneath us, the distinctions of Beasts, Beings, and Spirits. Doesn't he understand that it is of no use to study our government's structure when only a facade remains?

I'll do it anyway, because I don't want to find out that grades are the one thing that bring back Father's strength,

Draco

* * *

January 11, 1997

Dear Journal,

It's been a pretty cheery first week, altogether.

On the train, I found myself suddenly flanked by Vince and Greg, apparently by accident as they began to shove baggage into their compartment. I was about to ask, "May I take this seat?" but then I recalled my place, and strode in to sit. After all, I owned the wizarding world now, the Death Eater signature branded into my arm. Teddy joined me with a quizzical look, and his hand trailing beyond the door as though a mysterious force were holding his arm taught. Oh, and what a mysterious force woman is: Pansy bursts into full view.

It is she that stops the show, and she gives me a deep look of disgust, flipping her hair in a way that doesn't make sense but somehow emphasizes the point: _You're not getting off that easy._

But I make some casual but choice political references that shut her up quite nicely, and she's beginning to warm to me as her popularity-instincts take over.

It's always put me in a position of seniority to be in the Dark Lord's inner circle of Death Eaters, and even while I might feel defeated at the bottom of the inner circle, to these non-Death Eaters, I can still bask in a higher status.

...Except for Vince and Greg, who have apparently become extremely insolent of late. If I give them instructions that aren't quite to their fancy, they dawdle and cite the Malfoy family's fall from grace. They aren't too unmanageable, especially after having to live without their company for the better part of the last three months, but it's a bit unsettling.

I'm trying to be pretty gung ho about the whole thing, after all. The meeting with the Dark Lord shook me up; one wrong word, and I'd be back in last year's position, with an errand from the Dark Lord weighing me down. Somehow, I'd said the right things, or at least the Dark Lord was amused enough at my avoidance that he let me slide. I can't count on being so lucky, for I already know that He has no qualms about treating Malfoys like dirt. Taking Father's wand was probably the last straw that broke us from _wanting_ to help Him, but what would we do if he _ordered_ us to?

That's for my parents to decide, I suppose.

And I don't really miss the other lot that much,

Draco

* * *

January 17, 1997

Dear Journal,

First DADA class of the new year, and it was pretty unsettling to say the least.

Meat's becoming more scarce nowadays, so offenders have to stay twice as long for torture. It was a Ravenclaw this time, some pretty Chow Ching or something. Her dark hair was matted with sweat and minimal blood, and splayed across her pale white face I couldn't help being reminded of Milly.

And I stuttered. I hesitated to raise my wand. For the sharp eyes of Amycus Carrow, of course, this would not do, and I was given a severe barking which included, "You were fine a few weeks ago!" Hopefully the class would assume he meant before break and not, well, during, as I knew he did. He's one of those drunken ones, though I do doubt that he was the actual one that I Crucio'd.

Affirming my resolve and clearing my mind, I gave a cursory spell. It worked. I went on. Life went on.

And I take Father's advice with more zeal.

My Patronus sits at my left, invisible to all but me,

Draco

* * *

February 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

Long time no see. Or write. Or whatever.

I've been busying myself with catching up, especially with Teddy. Pansy's still a bit distant- I guess she's kind of nervous around me. Disappointing, but makes sense, considering our history.

A strange thing happened yesterday- I saw Asteria. Or rather, she sought me out to talk. I haven't really made any sort of contact with that crowd since Milly left, and Terri is the first person I'd expect to blame me. Instead, she just sidled over to me as we were hurrying to our respective classes- her O.W.L., my N.E.W.T. "Hey," she said, less haughtily than I was used to. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, uh..." I let my baritone trail off for a bit. What did she expect me to say. "Yeah, I didn't care about any of y'all other than Milly"?

She just smiled a bit, close-mouthed, at my silence. "We should catch up," she finally said.

"I actually had the impression that you couldn't stand me," I admitted off-handedly.

"Well, I'm standing now," she remarked unimpressively and moved on to Herbology, or whatever it was.

I was late for Defense, but they just made me the first person to torture again. I'm not ashamed of it or anything like some people are, so it's not so bad. I've pretty much numbed myself to the process, and I like to pretend that Neville Longbottom has, too, and he's cockily faking some screams so that he can be released and get up to more mischief, like accusing Alecto Carrow of having muggle blood in her, which is reportedly the last charge he's doing time for. No one in their right mind would do something like that if they _weren't_ numb to it, right?

Of course, Gryffindors have never been in their right mind in the first place, and... I'm going to stop writing before I start feeling guilty for the fools,

Draco

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Hoping you enjoyed that. I might spin out another chapter in the next week, as this one was pretty easy and encouraging._

_I know the tone has changed, but Draco's Christmas events have left him a little lighter. And it's that whole New Year spirit- the irrational feeling that, due to an arbitrary division of time, anything is possible, especially good things._

_I feel as though I've used the word "thing" a lot this chapter. What do you guys think?_

_Let me know by clicking the blue/green/whatever REVIEW button and typing something in the box! (And submitting it, too.)  
_


	65. VII: Sealed and Locked

_**Disclaimer:** No J. K. Rowlings were harmed in the making of this chapter. In addition, she also happens to own Harry Potter. A double plus!_

_A random__ **thank you **to everyone who has placed this story in their Favorites or in their Alerts. After all, as not all of you have ever left me reviews, I haven't had the chance to mention how happy I am that the Draco Diaries has managed to get on these pretty little lists._

_**And now, my marvelous reviewers:**_

_mjmusiclover: Glad to hear I haven't lost it, and that you're still around to read. :)_

_emcee31: My theory is that prolonged time with dementors eating all of your happy memories would result in the latter. We've never seen Sirius produce a Patronus, have we?_

* * *

February 14, 1997

Dear Journal,

First Valentine's without Pansy. Or was that last year?

Hm. That's a bit unsettling. The entirety of last year is a blur, like a massive firewhiskey-dream, except I don't even have the comfort of knowing that I had a good time. Considering how sleep-deprived, depressed, and blahblahblah that I was, I suppose it isn't surprising that my calendar is rather out of whack.

In that case, it's rather doubtful that I was still holding on to Pansy (or, more aptly, her to me) at this point last year... Is it my first conscious Valentine's?

Or perhaps it's my first Valentine's without her in the present that I can recall.

Doesn't sound as impressive.

And not even entirely true. I actually do see her a lot. We eat in the same vicinity- this school year, with the marked lack of attendance, the tables are far more spread out. If you thought it was bad before the break, now it's even sparser! The timidest of the brave that had come were stashed at home, some were exterminated, I suspect, and others from the "rebel" houses (anything without green in it... what does that leave?) weeded out because of some related anti-actions, most likely. For instance, that barmy blonde who got possession of you last year- there one day, two week interlude, then gone the next. She always acted so oddly during her public-detentions-for-the-education-of-others. I don't know how one can spasm in pain oddly, but she managed it.

But that's beside the point.

The disappearances have even been happening throughout the past few weeks, actually!

I asked Teri in the common room (we converse regularly now- I'm not entirely sure how it came about, but I'm sure that she knows perfectly) the other day if she would be spontaneously evaporating like the rest of them. Pat was gone, Lanie was gone, Katie was gone, and Milly was... well, obviously. She gave some vague response that amounted to "I reckon I'll stick it out," but it had the old suspicions clouding her eyes, wondering how much I knew and to whom I was betraying her secrets.

Not that she tells me anything new. She's as close lipped as the last time I wrote to you about her. She was always the one, following Pat like a sickening puppy-dog even more than the others, who warned the others away from me. After all, I'm rumored to be a Death Eater.

Oh, wouldn't Pansy be thrilled to know that that rumor is true!

My, digression has been this entry's theme, it would seem. Here I was, set to moan about my singleton-ness at this unmonumental Valentine's Day. And why? I'm not mourning- my parents have a chance for romance and oh my Salazar my brain is vomiting. Excuse me. Continuing onward, the Dark Lord has no love! Why do I need one?

Because I'm not in complete obedience to him. My loyalty is to my family first.

Why is that so easy to forget?

I'm a Slytherin, aren't I?

Draco

* * *

February 23, 1997

Dear Journal,

How strange. I will be back at the Malfoy Manor with my family and "extended family" in just another month.

Usually around this time I would be anticipating the leave from school and homework- and Professor McGonagall alone has piled enough to make that more the case than ever! -but always I feel reserved. Everything has changed, and to oscillate between two entirely renovated landscapes only adds chaos to the chaos.

Whenever one place starts to grow on me- oh, that's a nice phrase. Whenever one place starts to grow on me like a mold, I am wrenched free and shoved into the other. Always thrown off by where I stand. My parents, moving as one unit, and I, trying blindly to follow their paths. I cannot see it, for there is the sheet of space, circumstance, and even distrust between us that I cannot cross, especially not from Hogwarts to Malfoy Manor. And even still, when I am there there is no respite; there is no respite anywhere!

Why can't I stay here, and find my place in society by myself; why can't I stay there, and definitively find where I'm supposed to be with my family?

So much subterfuge, I am convinced of it.

Or perhaps everything is instant survival, with my parents' tongue in cheek and my tongue in cheek and we're all just waiting, to make sure that no one else is going to make a move when we are.

Teri says similar things. She says many strange things, for a fifteen year old girl. When I was fifteen years old- though not a girl, mind you- I too had already been thrust into these games, but I had the sweet intoxication of Pansy's lips on mine our hands on each other as we lost the war, and then I had her support when I stood. I had the distraction of pink-bowed, toad-faced professors and Weasley-based (they make good targets, bright red and all!) musical compositions. What had she? No tools to fight, nor modes of expression.

She could speak to Daphne, but Daphne is such a different person. Of course, I can only say this now knowing what Teri is now and Daphne was before. They still share something, but Daphne's eyes are off and I can see the true pureblood spirit in her.

I have long since forgotten the romance-politics-whatever of the Slytherin House, but whatever beaux Daphne has, she is certainly devoted to being that perfect, proper shell of support that women are made to be.

Meanwhile, Teri is so un-Daphne that I sometimes speculate (only in my head, of course- to voice such ideas would bring utmost shame to all parties involved, and to my house altogether) that perhaps she is not interested in men at all. Then again, perhaps she is merely uninterested now, or uninterested in being subservient- but that comes to the same, really. If one won't be wife to a _husband_, then...

Nah...

Just a month in the general company of Pansy and I am falling easily into her habits. I mustn't continue; after all, they are practically what repelled me from the woman in the first place. At least, I am pretty sure I must be repelled; otherwise, why would I have left her as I did? Though now I am not repelled and have befriended her again... Ack, I once said.

Life makes so much more sense _without_ the introspection,

Draco

* * *

March 5, 1997

Dear Journal,

All these precious secrets in one slim volume. Once upon a time it was just that if this came out into the open, the Malfoys would suffer perhaps a bit more shame and suspicion from the usual people and I would die of embarrassment. Now, if it were released, our bodies would be found in the safety of our own home, footsteps and the trace of an enormous snake around our corpses.

Or, at least, that was how tonight's nightmare went. Having released it onto paper, perhaps it will stop haunting me,

Draco

* * *

March 16, 1997

Dear Journal,

Today, talking to Teri, I said, "It's strange that I suddenly find myself so comfortable."

"At Hogwarts?" Teri tried to place my non-sequitur somewhere in our conversation. It was a philosophical sort of one, as all of ours tended to be. She talked about some general idea as I tried to read between the lines and apply it, and I responded generally. Both of us said things that we thought no one could disagree with, so as to not expose our opposing political strata, and ended up lightly crossing swords anyway. This time it was about whether or not we enjoyed Hogwarts' changes, without ever saying it so directly. Ideas that had floated around were that change is inescapable, that change offers new opportunities, that the classroom density offers more teacher-to-student time, that the general atmosphere prohibits learning in general, that it was taking time set aside for education without educating. Identifying that my calm, sincere outburst had no place in matters already discussed, she tried next, "Around all of your old friends again?"

I smirked a bit. "Old friends? Acquaintances of convenience."

She rolled her eyes at her own slip, and added, "What else is marriage, anyway?"

I thought of Mother and Father and took a moment to wonder. "...But, no, I meant... talking here, with you. About nothing of consequence that, at the time seeming like everything of consequence."

"Oh, trying to sound _smart_, are you?" she responded loftily. Well, I did once write poetry...

"I can make colossal sighs too, thank you very much. No need to waste your breath."

"Well, Master Malfoy, with all your luxuries you find _this_ comfortable?"

"Luxuries," and again, I remembered. "A week of school and then off home."

"You're going? I'd have thought, with all your talk of opportunity and inescapable change, that you'd rather stick it out at Hogwarts and improve your Unforgivables."

Aha, application. "Does that mean you'll be staying at this godforsaken place?"

"'Godforsaken,'" she repeated slowly, thoughtfully. "What does that mean to _you_?"

It was something I had read, I knew that. And Teri had caught me at it. So what could I... "It means that Milly is gone." There. It was out. What I had been suppressing all this time; MillyMillyMillyMillyMilly... just writing her name improves my penmanship. Teri wasn't enough, Teri was no replacement; I didn't want someone to constantly test me, I wanted someone who accepted me. Whom I could discuss the concrete without having to watch my back, without everything coming to be around reasons we could never be fully open, because somehow we already were.

"Gone? Ah, yes, gone," said the girl in front of me, fingers curling around a short golden lock of hair. "As I must be. Classes are in a moment, and I haven't the blank NEWT periods as you do."

If I could paint a picture of everything Milly had ever said, and take it at face value... Discover her vices and virtues, and map it out- would it lead me to her last secrets? Milly was a coward, she said of herself; Milly was brave, _I_ say of her. If Milly faced what I was (oh, she knew without having to ask! without having to tell! a virtue or vice?) she would have to leave; she left. Milly allied herself alongside others who had faced torture by peers; and I had allied myself, merely passively, against it.

Is that how Mother and Father even got into all of this?

Of course not. The passive ones were the Parkinsons, or even the Greengrasses. The purebloods who had yet to declare themselves.

And then where does Headmaster Snape fall, trusted by the Dark Lord but for so long by the Order of the Phoenix as well? Accused by the green-eyed Aunt Bella (actually, what color eyes _does_ she have? Her heavy lids have always been the distraction) as being as wishy-washy, but by the Dark Lord as being loyal.

I have only five days to decide where I stand; with my parents, with the Dark Lord, and with myself.

Then I'm going "home,"

Draco

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ See, two days, not four months! :)_

_How's Asteria's assimilation working for you?_

_And can y'all predict what's going to happen in the next entry?_

_Please review!  
_


	66. VII: A World of Wonder

_**Disclaimer**: The below chapter parallels "Chapter 23: the Malfoy Manor" of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Only the below chapter was written by me, and probably makes more sense if you have read Rowling's version first.  
_

_A/N: Hm, the chapter is 66. Just 600 more chapters until the end of the story! Kidding, of course. The pacing slowed down a lot this year, but I'm trying to speed it up a bit. The end is in sight. O.O That's a scary thought in itself, actually._

_Also, sad to see that no one was uber eager to guess at what this installment would bring. You'll see now, of course...  
_

_Review replies:_

_emcee31: I don't think slitting wrists is necessary at this point. After all, attempted suicide is far enough, methinks._

* * *

March 24, 1998

Dear Journal,

Now that I'm so secure at school, it is jolting to find myself in my own kingdom again. And truly, I do feel like one. Although few of the Death Eaters have cleared out, they avoid me after last Christmas' events, and the Dark Lord has made his home somewhere else. I wanted to ask how this miracle was achieved from Father and Mother, but I was reminded by their urgent glances to each other that communication was a precious commodity not to be had without complex orchestrations on their part. Which brought up the very important flaw in their plans that I haven't the power to initiate conversations...

Then again, I'm only a pawn in this game, and with luck, I'll be able to pass unnoticed across the board... As long as I don't dash sideways to smite or to the end to promote, this idea could stand.

It's weird to say that I'm gladly a pawn, but my analogy is different. It's not that the Dark Lord is the player; He is another piece, perhaps a King with the powers of the Queen. He has gone elsewhere, and the plots and orchestrations are beyond me. This is a chess game perhaps with no Master in the most direct respect- what would be a game if the animated pieces could take their own initiatives, and only be slightly guided by the directions of their larger persons? There were rumors to this effect of a piece itself directing, I think to do with Potter and Weasel and Mudblood (it's been long since _they_ have crossed my mind) in first year... but it was so long ago, and it still had all the pieces in a perfectly orchestrated pattern.

Vince and Greg would be far better players if their pieces had more of a say, most likely.

The point of this bloated analogy is that the good thing about being a pawn is that I'm not important enough to kill but important enough to be on the board.

Wearing my colors with pride,

Draco

* * *

March 26, 1998

Dear Journal,

How wrong you can be in a day.

Perhaps if I played chess myself, I would know; eight pawns are not useless. They are dispensable to an extent, but necessary... Perhaps if I'd had an equal childhood opponent, this would have occurred to me earlier.

Today, I was called upon to do my duty to the Dark Lord. Not by any remote Death Eater, but by Father. Though he is still remote, and probably still a Death Eater...

No. I was not called upon to do my duty to the Dark Lord. I was called upon to do my duty to my _family_.

What did I do? "I don't know," I said. I turned my back, I walked away, I mumbled. "I... maybe... yeah... It could be..."

I suppose I ought to give rhyme or reason to this spontaneous emoting of mine... It began when the gates opened, I suppose. I had been dozing in an armchair, silent and contemplative and wondering how to phrase my queries, across from Father's similarly seated form. We both sipped some tea. Mother went down curiously, to see what had satisfied our guards at this hour, and she said, the essence of cold poise, "What is this?" One thing I never ceased to marvel at nor try to imitate was my parents' unending composure, but my attempts were to little avail.

"We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" came an ugly voice, and I knew then that this person must not be in the Inner Circle. He would have known of the Dark Lord's hiatus, or at least that it were more prudent to carry on triumphant business with his own Dark Mark rather than bring whatever news into our house, where Mother, Father, and Aunt Bella would be competing for His attentions.

"Who are you?"

"You know me! Fenrir Greyback!" And I wouldn't forget these words: "We've caught Harry Potter!" Another voice joined Greyback's, assuring him of their trustworthiness, and Mother invited them in.

"Bring them in. Follow me," she said. "My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know." She was pulling me into the picture? To what end? I knew that this, however, was a simple matter. Name Harry Potter, and all previous glories would be restored. The world would return to its majestic pre-war state, where Malfoy's righteously reigned as loyal and powerful followers of the Dark Lord. No other Death Eater could ever present the honor of having presented the Dark Lord's greatest enemy for slaughter; not Snape, not Wormtail, not Aunt Bella...

Three ungainly bound figures were shoved with little grace into the drawing room, and Father eased out of his chair to greet the Snatchers. "What is this?" he asked leisurely; perhaps his hearing was not as good as mine, or perhaps he wanted to hear it on our terms, not the Snatchers'.

"They say they've got Potter. Draco, come here." There, the summons. I walked hesitantly toward them, keeping away from the werewolf as my mind churned. The boy they presumed to be Potter was thrust into the chandelier's light, and I seemed to hear Mother's voice again, from a date seven months ago... "You're big enough to make your own decisions , I suppose," she had said, she had supposed.

"Well, boy?" Greyback snarled, and I said nothing to him. He, at least, I could be higher than. I tried to form the words, or even the thoughts... Absolved, I tried. We would all be so _absolved_. It would be _easy_. But something stranger was taking over my head. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy I had hated so long. He was about my age, a few months younger, both in a war of old men. Where had he been, if not at school? If it were him, would I be responsible for my own death? Of course, he was not me, he was never me, but that was how the train went and froze me... Empathy, part of the pathway to Princess Pea's heart...

"Well, Draco?" Father prompted me now, eager, as I should have been. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't-" _tell you._ I stopped myself, and said, "I can't be sure." I could not look at him; I didn't want to know, didn't want to be instrumental. I didn't want to be the Master of my own fate, because I am not good at planning these things; I cannot devise as a FIDE Master might... Something inside me reared up, said that I was young, that the game was far from done, that I could stand to let some kid live before me... I did not have to be bitterly weighing my own stakes. I was a Malfoy and my comfort was assured by the adults in my life- except that now I was an adult, and perhaps comfort was only assured by difficult decisions... I wasn't sure. I didn't want to be sure.

"But look at him carefully, look! come closer! Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-" and then Father was invoking this reason, which jolted me more than my half-hearted attempts to persuade myself... There was bickering; Greyback wanted credit for the catch- they were already haggling the boy's life... Father was getting impatient, demanding answers for the state of the boy's face. "There's something there- it could be the scar, stretched tight," he noted of the boy's forehead, and then seemed to suddenly identify my inexplicable reluctance. "Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

I trudged forward, knowing that there was no escape. I stared into the eyes of my childhood rival, of the boy who I'd so hated for reasons that I could no longer find. Oh, the ultimate victory, snatched from me... His squinted green eyes were as piercing as Dumbledore's blue had once been, and I found myself in the same position.

_"It is my mercy, not yours, that matters now."_

_"So I want you to answer me honestly: Was your meeting with the Dark Lord painless last night?"_

"I don't know," I repeated easily, and walked away from Father, toward Mother's stealthy silhouette.

"We had better be certain, Lucius. Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord," she said, and I wondered if the same thoughts had passed through her mind... I wondered if she were on my side, or mine on hers, as it were, or we on Potter's... "They say that this is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander's description. If we are mistaken; if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing... Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?" What _he_ did? Doesn't she mean what _I_ did, under his orders? Or was there more to their punishment? I suddenly felt very cold...

"What about the Mudblood then?" _The Mudblood_... As I had called her so long. And indeed, it was she- but Mother had that identification covered, and I could not help saying "maybe ...yeah." And then Ron Weasley is pointed out, and Father is saying "isn't it Arthur Weasley's son?" and I'm thinking about how much Father had always _hated_ the Weasleys, about how the Weasleys always hated us, and I say, "Yeah, it could be," unable to muster up the strength of a certain affirming but somehow able to manage it better against two peripheral characters rather than my personal archenemy.

Then Aunt Bella strides in, wanting not a piece of the cake but all of it, and Father urgently covers the Mark on her arm. As he said, "everything will be forgiven," and the Malfoys will return to grace... I wondered then and now if Aunt Bella's Mark hurts in the same unceasing manner that all of them do, with her insanity and lust and all, and then if the Dark Lord has a Dark Mark on himself... _"I_ was about to call him! _I_ shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority-" Not entirely fair to her, if she caught it, which she would, as she doesn't have a house of her own... Yet it is her own fault she lost it... Yet it was to service to the Dark Lord, in avenging his death on the wrong people...

"Your authority! You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you!" How dare _you_, more aptly, dear Aunt Bella... "Take your hands off me!"

"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy-"

"Begging your pardon, _Mr._ Malfoy," Greyback cuts in, with words about collecting the gold on Potter's head, and Aunt Bella laughs at his worldly desires: "I seek only the honor of his-" she stutters then, taken aback by the glint of one of the Snatchers' loot. _Unintrigued by gold, did the allure of weaponry surpass it to my aunt of violent tendencies?_ I wondered briefly as Father without question sought his own Mark to summon the Dark Lord.

"STOP!" And the house stopped, commanded by the urgency of her scream. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" A brief scuffle ensued, until all had fallen but Greyback, instead brought to his furry knees. "Where did you get this sword?" And then, something interesting: "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"

"It was in their tent," another interesting something. Potter, Granger, and Weasley, reduced from Golden Gryffindor status to a shabby old tent. "Release me, I say!"

"Draco," I was jolted into the picture, "move this scum outside. If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me." My mind was whirling with this affront; was I the garbage man now? Why did these men deserve death in the first place?

Mother stood up for the saner half of the question: "Don't you dare speak to Draco like-"

"Be quiet! This situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem! If it is indeed Potter," her tone switched to murmurs, "he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself... But if he finds out... I must know... The prisoners," here she yelled again, "must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!"

Once again, Mother was preoccupied with pride. "This is _my_ house, Bella, you don't give orders in my-"

"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!"

Mother finally heeded her sister, and said, "Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

"Wait," Aunt Bella said, once again defying the masters of the house, once again being heeded. "All except... except for the Mudblood." But ah, this was a provision that the household would acquiesce with.

"No! You can have me, keep me!" It was Weasley. Why was Potter silent? Still hiding his identity? Aunt Bella smacked him, and snarled a threat. "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them... yet." Greyback taunted the prisoners a bit but otherwise did as he was told.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix pulled a dagger out of her robes, and I watched, transfixed by these strange urgent ceremonies. The Mudblood was dragged to directly underneath the chandelier- better for the wolf to see her, my dear. Aunt Bella hissed into her ear, but Granger shook her head determinedly. Bella was undeterred. Her words were more vehement, and though my ears strained to discern it, I could tell nothing more than that externally, she was becoming more unnerved by the firework next to her. And then Aunt Bella grabbed her by her shirt front and stabbed her, but not with a knife. Rather with a sharp Crucio. I had never seen Aunt Bella behave with such utter disgust; not to a large spider on the floor, not to her family, of whom her contempt seems positively affectionate in comparison... She couldn't stand Hermione, Granger, the Mudblood, the girl, so much, every moment she was thrusting her away onto the floor, only to pick her back up again for more insults and threats.

At the start, it was this simple cycle, of Aunty torturing her, battering her with fists and palms, kicking the feet from under her... and then Granger gasping, lifting her head, her torso, one hand after the other. And then the Crucio would come again, and it wasn't a brief start, it was an inescapable agony that had her screaming, clawing at her own hair, writhing on the ground until Bella cut off the spell with little effort and the screams broke into silent weeping. "What do you want from me?" she'd rasp, and I thought of how smooth and brisk it was answering Professors' questions. Then Bella would rage at her, words then torture and then the cycle began again.

Down, a little up, very down, less down, down, a little up, very down, less down...

Aunt Bella's words blossomed into shrieks: "You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!_" There was less pause this time, as Granger only said quietly, shakily, "I've never- I wasn't-" Her weak denials gave way to screams, smashing at the floor as though it were what caused her pain. I eyed her for blood, bruises, anything- but the spell seemed incapable of causing more than fried nerve endings.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth, or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!" The weapon was poised over her head, and her expression so wild and furious that even I believed her... I wondered how Mother was related to this feral beast- or did she, too, revert to these expressions when wooing Father? It seemed improbable; impossible... But I was no measure for how siblings resembled each other; I was alone in my generation, as Father had been, as his Father had been, up until our last pair of heirs had murdered each other for the name.

The dagger swiftly descended, and I winced for the blow, but instead the Mudblood was given a blast of Crucio that lifted her off her feet as she skidded a few inches, the impact only having to add to her pain. It was fascinating; I had become numbed to the appearance of torture by the fortnightly DADA classes, but I knew now that Amycus was an amateur, and that we even more were amateurs. Not one sum class could match one spell from Aunt Bella's wand, excepting my own spells, perhaps... But even I had not the heart in it that Bella did, so much more completely and insanely that I wondered that the Dark Lord had not already taken her into his arms, caressed her with his long fingers, and bent down to suck her soul out through her lips, another dementor but of love instead of fear. Or were they the same?

"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! _CRUCIO!_"

The spell was beyond audible now, and the increase in decibels seemed to have exponentially augmented the experience for the Mudblood... It lasted so long; it seemed to have passed the physical limits of pain, lingered there for an interminable moment, and then pushed onward. I could imagine Bella exploding- I mean, the Mudblood, exploding again and again, just somehow kept together by the very magic that yearned to rip her apart. Her screams were the only part of her that were not dying, echoing in the cavernous volumes of the Manor... From below it even echoed, and it grew to contain deeper tones, and even her name seemed to be trapped inside the white nonsense she had.

Aunt Bella's screeched even louder afterward, and I wondered if Granger's ears were suffering more than the rest of her, "How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

Her answers were now wrenching sobs. "We only met him tonight! We've never been inside your vault... It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy? Oh, a likely story!"

Father easily interjected here: "But we can find out easily. Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

Father's nonchalance made me wonder how commonplace these things were to a Death Eater- but more, I was grateful for his save. Though feeling slightly slave-like, I appreciated that perhaps this act was to relieve me from watching more of Bella's joy. Had he noticed how vicariously I had absorbed the sight, wondering always about what Milly had said to me about how it felt, wondering what it would feel like to me?

I scampered down the stairs, gripping my wand tightly, and ordered, "Stand back. Line up against the back wall." My voice was still shaking, dammit. "Don't try anything or I'll kill you!"

To my relief, they heeded me, and I kept my eyes on the goblin I was counted on to fetch. I did as bidded and slammed the door behind me, and dragged the goblin to Aunty under the chandelier. She seemed to have been resting, letting the Mudblood wallow a bit at her feet, but when she saw the goblin again she began another round of torture. As I dropped the creature off, the creature on the floor met my eyes for a moment, and I was caught by the deep brown eyes- mud-like eyes, pained as her race was destined to be. I stepped back to my place near the fire, near my Father, struck anew at how I had gone to school with this thing, attended classes. She had slapped me, all defiance and fear, and now she hadn't the strength to retaliate... Then screaming again, and Bella was again circling her, eyeing her, speaking to her, hurting her...

Breaking the unmonotonous monotony, a loud crack came from below the floor. Father jumped up, alarmed at this interruption of protocol. "What was that? Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar? Draco-" He took a look at my wide eyes and reconsidered. "No, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!" I walked to Wormtail's room, careful to not make a sound; Aunt Bella had ceased her torturing, Granger her screaming, the goblin his shuffling, all waiting with their ears to the floor for another sound when I left. I roused Wormtail from his bed and returned to the drawing room.

At my return, ease resumed, and Father asked, "What is it, Wormtail?"

"Nothing; all fine!" was the response. His voice was a bit weird, but I supposed he had just been woken up.

"Did you think that your little friends would come a save you? You useless, waste of-" Bella descended on the Mudblood, lying in her heap on the floor, and jolted her up with another Cruciatus. This was the worst of all of them, and I wondered if Bella had even been trying before...

When it was done, Granger finally lost consciousness, and Aunty turned to her next victim, still panting from the exertion she had put into making the Mudblood miserable. She thrust Gryffindor's sword into the goblin's hands, taking no care to give him the dull side, and said, "Well? Is it the true sword?"

"No. It is a fake."

"Are you sure? Quite sure?"

"Yes."

Aunt Bella's face finally relaxed, and it seemed infectious... But all of this pain for nothing? But she was a Mudblood; the pain was nothing itself... "Good," Aunty smiled, gave him a cut with her wand (what was the knife for, then?) and kicked his fallen form. Then, rolling up her sleeve... "And now we call the Dark Lord!" Then something new crossed my mind- if this had all been an elaborate distraction, a ploy to get to call the Dark Lord herself... Could I put it past my Aunt? Well, for all the things that she _was_, an actress was not one of them. Her emotions always rose to the surface of her skin, and her quick to be felt by all if unpleasant.

"And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood." I sucked in a breath. "Greyback, take her if you want her-"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! _Expelliarmus!_" The wand that Aunt Bella had wielded and utilized so much this night flew threw the air.

To everyone's utter shock, Potter and Weasley had emerged from the cellar. _Strange timing_, I thought. _Why not come earlier, and prevent all these nonexistent blood?_ Then Potter stunned Father, and I immediately retaliated with my own spell. To hell with this insanity, keep away from my family. Potter dodged the blasts, as Mother and the werewolf had too rebutted0

"STOP OR SHE DIES!" bellowed Aunt Bella, holding the Mudblood to her, and I wondered if she would burn the clothes later... Aha, I thought, that's the usefulness of a dagger. "Drop your wands. Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!" They did not comply, and Aunty's blade drew blood. The wands clattered to the floor, and I felt relieved; I did not want to see a murder atop everything else that bore witnessing this night. "Good! Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!" I fetched them, an obedient dog... Father was unconscious, Wormtail still downstairs- what had come of that venture?- Bella occupied with her Russian Roullette, the werewolf unMarked, so I was the resident available Death Eater, I suppose.

"Now," she continued quietly, "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight." Greyback was so eager to consume flesh... but why would he want _her_ dirty blood? Why ally with Death Eaters, when if he opposed us he could partake in purer dining?

There was no time for him to begin, because the magnificent chandelier- which had lighted the drawing room for centuries, Father used to never tire of saying, installed by Brutus Malfoy in 1678- took it's last bow on the body of the Mudblood, in immediate terms only wounding her further, but creating the distraction to leave. I entertained that thought for a moment- was "Miss Mudblood" expendable, too? But why did they drop their wands, rather than let her die...

It was only a moment, as I said, for the crash yielded flying shards of crystal everywhere, flying into my watching face... Weasley bounded toward us to yank Hermione, and the little focus I had through my fingers and blood quickly shifted to the wands being released from my hand. "Stupefy!" a voice cried, and a large body thudded on the floor, where more crystals awaited whoever it had been. An arm wove around my stomach, depleted me of breath for a moment, but the fingernails were Mother's, and I lifted my head to the doorway.

"DOBBY!" my Mother identified, and i could only think _what the _fu- "You! _You_ dropped the chandelier?"

The elf merely walked calmly into the room, shaking his finger patronizingly at my flabbergasted mother. "You must not hurt Harry Potter."

"Kill him, Cissy!" She had evidently recovered from the crash. Mother was disarmed with a deafening _crack_, and I belatedly located the sound from the cellar not so long earlier. It was interesting; the builders of Hogwarts had never considered the Vanishing Cabinets a threat, and now the builders of the Malfoy Manor cellar had not considered the daily magic of our servants a threat... "You dirty little monkey! How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"

"Dobby has no master!" Three years ago, my last conversation had been, and he had said nervously, _"I... am free."_ Now he stated defiantly, "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"

"Ron, catch and GO!" With that command, Potter seized our house elf and spun, as Weasel grabbed his Mudblood and did the same, and Aunty Bella's knife streaked toward Potter and Dobby and disappeared with them. We spent a few moments panting in shock, and I wondered- _why hadn't the Dark Lord shown up yet? He could have had them..._

To extend our fortune, that was indeed when the Dark Lord appeared, and he took in the broken chandelier, the blood on floor and faces, the unconscious bodies of Father and the werewolf with one sweeping glance. Finally, his eyes landed on Aunt Bella, whose arm was still outstretched but eyes were wide with fear. "I told you," he said slowly, his high voice chilling in its unnaturalness, and I banished all thoughts of perhaps Bella's great, furious torture spells ever matching his, "I warned you, you were to summon me for nothing less than Harry Potter. Tell me, is he hiding in the chandelier? Behind the sofa? In the fire?"

Aunt Bella swallowed, and the misery her face belied made me wonder, for a moment, that she had ever taught me the art of Occlumency to begin with... of course, Father had completed my education more fully last summer. _She_ would never find it necessary to separate herself from the Dark Magic that she so loved, and so craved to caress... "My lord," she pleaded, and threw herself at his feet. "He was here but moments ago... a house elf-"

He slapped her, and she sobbed, inching away on the floor that the Mudblood had just writhed. Sure enough, a round of torture continued, and I finally had the pleasure of satisfying my curiosity. Only Father and the werewolf were spared, escaping the Dark Lord's immediate wrath on the floor.

Oh, isn't satisfaction strange!

Draco

* * *

March 29, 1998

Dear Journal,

The Dark Lord has put us under house arrest... Though it is unlikely I would have ventured from the Manor for this Easter Break, the atmosphere of prisoner-hood has descended upon us all...

Mother is treated the wounded- really, just me. She loathes to touch the werewolf, and Father insisted that he has borne worse that a simple _Stupefy_...

Being infirmed is what allowed me to pen out that unusually long entry- that, and my unusually vivid memories of it. The trauma seems to have carved the details into my the inside of my brain...

Draco

* * *

March 31, 1998

Dear Journal,

Back on the Hogwarts Express to... well, Hogwarts. The Ministry of Magic sent a message that:

_We are pleased to inform you that the house arrest of Draco Lucius Malfoy is lifted for the purposes of returning to Hogwarts: Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Wishing you a nice Easter, _

_Pius Thicknesse _

_Minister of Magic  
_

And so I go... When I took you out to pen these thoughts, Pansy gave a soft gasp. "You still use it?" she asked.

"Yeah..." said I, trying to recall the Minister's exact wording.

I have a feeling it will be a very quiet ride from here on out. Well, great.

Nothing to distract me from my ruminations,

Draco

* * *

April 3, 1998

Dear Journal,

Got a pleasant surprise in the mail today. Eric brought me a letter from Mother, first of the year. It was strange to recall that once upon a time, she had sent me sweets daily...

April Fool's. It wasn't pleasant. Instead it said:

_Dearest Draco,_

_I was cleaning up the chandelier, blood, and hair. There are no wands in this house... Ugh. Good help is so hard to find these days, as Tuesday is a reminder of._

_I went down to the cellar, to see what ruckus they may have made there, and I found two very strange things._

_Three little globes of light sat in the corners of the cellar and illuminated the second strange thing, which was the corpse of Wormtail. A few rats which have made his body their home, in a _James and the Giant Peach_ sort of way. I thought it well to inform you now, rather than spoil your homecoming in the summer with bad news and memories.  
_

_Do your studies well, and know my heart is with you._

_Yours,_

_Mother_

Ah, and her note did remind me- Mother lent me her wand for Hogwarts. I suppose it's true, then, that her heart is with me, if her heart is her wand.

That would make me heartless,

Draco

* * *

_A/N: Phew. That chapter actually took me a few weeks to churn out- usually I have bursts of industry and then immediately press _Update_ afterward, but this went beyond the regular five-hour-stretch on a Saturday night._

_I'm of the opinion that Draco has been narrating his life for so long that his memory for quotes has improved to the point that he can keep most details straight enough to write down within a few days of a happening. I'm also of the opinion that if his writing hand tires, he can use magic to help him along._

_Some lovely fanart by not-me (take out spaces & enjoy): _

_http: / fc01. deviantart. net/fs28/i/2008/106/2/6/CH23_Malfoy_Manor_by_makani. jpg_

_http: / fc00. deviantart. net/fs19/f/2007/240/e/2/DH_inspecting_potter_by_makani. jpg  
_

_That's all I really have to say for the moment. Please drop a review; I worked really hard at this chapter, and I would appreciate some feedback for my labor._


	67. VII: War Begets Insanity

_Disclaimer: I was going to include this revelation that I've been building up on... well, all year. And I didn't. Fits better next time. So that's your disclaimer. Teehee. Also, profanity. But it's censored with st*rs.  
_

_Thank you to the following reviewers:_

_**mjmusiclover:** Whoa, now, the 2-year anni (feeling Aussie today) hadn't arrived yet when you said that! But thank you, because for __two years, whenever my inbox was dry of review and I despaired that anyone would read my fanfiction, you came through.  
_

_**emcee31:** xD Interesting idea, that elves have standards. "Stay away from those Malfoys, or you'll end up like _Dobby_! Proud of his clothes-bearing state... Oh, completely deranged..." I thought that they didn't have elves because otherwise, well, why did they order Draco to remove the bodies, or why did Narcissa have to answer the door with her own dainty hands? Though, I do confess, I didn't devote much thought to it._

_Speaking of the two year anniversary, however, I had meant to finish this by that time. It is now a few days past and I am sorry for that. It just slipped my mind, terrible inconsistent person I am. I do want to get this finished this summer so I can begin on other projects, so with no further ado, I will begin the third to last chapter of this journey..._

* * *

_(in the time that I was supposed to have finished this chapter, more reviews popped up! Hurrah! Except they probably won't see this for a very long time as their only at the start, the squirts!)_

_**Martina Malfoy Lestrange: **Diaries, yes. Poor Draco will always have his delusions. ;) I'm glad I made him pompous enough! And I hope that "Bye!" was only temporary._

_**symphonatika:** Taking a break from your smut, hm? You steal my pseudo-flame? O.O Well, I assure you that it doesn't sound at all like you anyway, so there. :P I hope your high thoughts of my style don't diminish as this fic progresses; the first chapter is actually heavily edited by a friend of mine, while the rest is my un-betaed self. Good to know he's sympathize-able enough to make you giggle! I should google who/what "Kemosabe" is. I steal your hat, because hats that can be tipped are surely worth stealing.  
_

_NOW READ.  
_

* * *

April 7, 1998

Dear Journal,

Today I noted to Teri lightly: "Damien's gone."

She hadn't been paying me any attention; in fact, she was so absorbed in her textbook that it left me with a pang for Milly- though Milly would never be that divested in something as droll as _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_. I had merely walked up to the chair she was lounging in, leaned over her shoulder, and made my statement.

She jumped a bit and hissed "_What?_" Then she saw it was me and her tension slipped away, and without a satisfactory answer she returned to her studying. The green firelight flickered on the cream-colored page, fickle and distracting.

I changed tacks; Teri had always supported my being out of the loop, and she especially had no reason to object to that as I was now readily consorting with the Slytherin Slytherins, so to speak. "How can you read like that?"

"What do you mean?"

She hadn't taken her eyes off the page. _I_ had been _trained_ as the Malfoy heir to read the most mundane textbooks in the dark, but she was no heir- there was still Daphne and any possible younger brother that would immediately take precedence- and still, the light disturbed me and I had this strange desire for it to disturb her at least as much. "The angle you're holding the book at- the light hardly shines on in and it just flashes over the page randomly."

"That's just what I need to make it interesting."

I leaned over her shoulder closer, her ear brushing my cheekbone. "Am I enough of a distraction to make it interesting?"

She swallowed, surprising me, as she had not, thus far in our correspondence, shown any weakness. "Too much, actually."

"Then I'll go," I said easily, shaking off the awkwardness that I had created and abruptly straightening myself. "Have fun with your homework, dork." She scoffed, and I walked to the dormitories where Teddy, Blaise, Greg, and Vince were waiting for me, where I knew exactly where I stood.

Raised a pureblooded Malfoy, I'm definitely not homosexual, so it's much simpler there,

Draco

* * *

April 9, 1998

Dear Journal,

Teri sat on her sofa, once again frowning in concentration at the textbook.

I shoved her delicate fingers off the arm to sit myself, and saw that she was on the same page as before. I declined to comment on that, and instead asked, "Are you lonely?"

"What do you mean?" Teri said carefully. It was a statement, not a question.

"Well, everyone you used to hang out with has scarpered, leaving you out to dry," I explained, not sure exactly why it felt good to goad her a bit. She's always so composed and closed around me that sometimes I wish I could just get under her skin, even for a moment.

"Everyone?"

"Well, yeah, Pat, Dame, Melanie, Katie..." I didn't mention Milly, but thinking of Milly brought another name to mind, one that I'd near forgotten. My voice changed as my discovery tumbled out of my lips. "Tracey."

"Took you a while."

She sounded amused. "What do you know about all of this?" I said, exasperated, a half-hearted attempt to discover something by means other than subterfuge.

"Hell if I'll tell you."

"What does _'hell'_ mean to you?" I said, remembering her critique of my use of _godforsaken._ It was a muggle word; they were muggle words, I recognized that now. And now, even though I knew how to use them and the depths of evil they knew, they were still words that had no place in the Slytherin Common Room, at the best seat before the fire.

"A lot, actually."

"Is it lonely, like you are?" She closed her eyes for a moment, took a breath, and turned back to her reading. "What, am I getting too personal?"

"Sure. Yes. Fine." The words were stilted, her eyes determinedly on the page.

"Why should a little concrete detail like that matter, when we've already paced circles around our values and philosophies on life? Isn't that more intimate than mere emotion to the great and intellectual Asteria of the Noble House of Greengrass?"

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"Sometimes I think my presence has the same value as my sarcasm."

"Sometimes I think your presence is more pleasant than your sarcasm."

"Funny, because I feel like I'm _all_ the time subjected to your sour wit."

She giggled, a sound which she made often but a sound which never failed to both disarm and astonish me. "You know, Draco, the more I talk to you, the more I notice how odd you sound."

"Really, now?"

"It's like your combining all of these random characters' dialogues and picking and choosing your style within the same sentence. You don't even know who you are, do you?"

Even Teri in her lightest moments could pierce me so deeply; rather than reacting, I sought to disconcert her in return; revenge, or just to distract her from the blood she had drawn, whichever. "Well, does anyone?" I leaned closer to her. "Do you?" I breathed, and I felt her tense, just as she had on Sunday when I last wrote in you.

Too quickly for me to realize what was happening, she had leaned forward and captured my lips in hers. This was someone who knew how to kiss with someone who could say the same; so different from Pansy and I, trying to figure it out for ourselves for the first time together. There was no arm movement or shifting of positions; after only a few moments, she drew away. From the perspective of the back of the chair, which the Common Room had seen, there was no difference between our embrace (if it can even be called that with such little motion) and me simply leaning over to read a bit from her book, or to divulge a secret in her ear. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the intense look in her eyes had faded. She licked her lips slowly, and I had a sudden urge to bridge the gap between us again.

"What was that?" I asked slowly, trying not to sound particularly pleased nor displeased; I didn't want her to hold any power over me, but I certainly didn't want to dissuade her from, er, trying it again if she so desired.

"I- I don't..." She blinked her eyes bewilderingly. "I don't even _like_ you."

"...Okay, I believe you," I lied, suddenly overcome with an urge to run away.

"Seriously. I mean it."

Careful to speak quietly, I rumbled, "So you're saying that what just happened was just a product of my inexplicable, er, sex appeal?" She gave a weak smile, and I took this as a sign to leave.

I suppose the answer to my first question was yes, then,

Draco

* * *

-April 13, 1998-

April 11, 1998

Dear Journal,

I must be spending too much time around Professor Vector; her fear of Friday the Thirteenths has botched my mental calendar. But I suppose I must keep attending the woman's classes; the Arithmancy N. E. W. T. is rumored to be one of the harder ones, right up there with Transfiguration.

It's been two days since Teri and I kissed (more like pecked), and so little has happened that I almost believe I imagined it all. By it all, I don't mean only the kiss; I mean the slow warming up to each other, the conversations that made me wonder but changed nothing for her, her adamant opinion of me ("I don't even _like_ you." The way she said _like_- with such disgust. It was no childish, taunting Pansyish word ("Do you _like_ her, or do you like, _like_ her?"), synonymous of fancy, but rather a precursor to civil conduct with one another.)

I've lost myself in the parentheses, but I think I had finished my thought.

Anyway, I haven't seen her beyond her figure, far off, eating alone. Lonely, I had asked... Still, she always eats like she had some place to be, confident and quick. As though she were making the choice to sit down haphazardly, because her _real_ friends were... I don't know, in a closet somewhere on a seventh floor corridor or something, where she was heading right after she finished with the pesky mortal business of victuals.

It's hard not to think about her, now, more physically than before, where before she had only been a long haired enigma. It's not as though she's anything special to me; it's just that, well, a girl kisses you and life can't go on unchanged. You end up thinking about it. Well, not you. _I_ think about it. I can't help thinking about it in _that_ way after she brings it up herself, in that way.

Well, today I at least got to make up my frustration on some detention victims. After yet another break, even less of the rebels seem to be showing their faces. Part of me felt like there were soon going to be no one left; just the Slytherins and a few unremarkable Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws. The first torture back from home went surprisingly well. I think watching Bella at her prime was helpful, perhaps?

Or maybe it was just useful that my target was female...

Draco

* * *

April 13, 1998

Dear Journal,

It's just occurred to me that the Carrows have been extraordinarily smug since Easter Break. I'm certain they can't know too much of the escape- after all, everyone other than me is under house arrest, and Lord Voldemort's description of the disaster would not lend any cause for smugness.

My curiosity has been piqued to the point that I decided to go to someone who I knew wouldn't deny me answers...

And honestly, my best answer for _why_ I would approach him, after everything last year, is that I was bored. Teri's conversation had matched Milly's in a way, and now I'd gone back to a pre-Milly state, back to... was that first year? Second? I don't know; but I'm seventeen now, and I feel that my old allies and I have grown apart enough that without those intelligent distractions, I am plunged into ennui.

I simply met him after supper, when he was heading down to his little dungeony quarters in the same general direction as _my_ dungeony quarters... Well, in retrospect, it's pretty interesting that he would still deign to go in that direction despite having the Headmaster's Office and privileges at his beck and call. For a moment I felt a twinge of unreasoning jealousy; but it's not like the Dark Lord could have _possibly_ named someone who hasn't even graduated, let alone held any teaching position whatsoever, lead the school... And then again, it's not like the Dark Lord is staying in _his_ home and claiming that dingy little hut as his headquarters.

I tapped him on the shoulder, and he spun around. "Do you practice that little swish?" I wanted to ask snidely, but forced myself to be civil. Already he is wary of me, certain that I am an immature, spoiled swot. It would not behoove me to validate this theory. Instead I politely greeted him and inquired of any Death Eater news.

"Of what kind?" said he, nonplussed. "And if the Dark Lord has not, if I may be so bold, _trusted_ you with information that I, in comparison, have been privy to, how can I be expected to divulge such hypothetical information?"

The rude, upset voice wondered if Teri had to suppress a smile at his formal speech. And she called _me_ awkward. Outwardly I expressed the notion that I can be easily forgotten, at school and unable to disappear during school hours due to the extent of the studiousness (I wasn't sure if this was a word, but it fit at the time) that _his_ leadership has inspired in me (I added that part when a black eyebrow raised sardonically, probably considering examples of my somewhat undisciplined behavior in his classes before this year).

"Ah, Draco," he said, and I saw him smirk at my antics. Not really smirk, of course; just his way of expressing amusement. We hadn't been so close since I took the Dark Mark and saw him as a peer rather than elder. But now I was requesting information from him, rather than the other way around, and he enjoyed the return of bearings. "If the Dark Lord would merely express His woe at your absence at these meetings, you _know_ that I would file the necessary papers to ensure you a pass."

I frowned but was not to be deterred. "Well, your remarks about the Dark Lord's intentions for me aside, _I_ am certain that my position in the Dark Lord's ranks would at least guarantee me as much knowledge as the Carrows."

"So you are curious about their newfound swagger, then? And, speaking of things aside, if not for the circumstances of my wand and our location, your words would have implicated you as a Death Eater. This is not a death sentence in this age, but surely you maintain the attention capacity to hear the Dark Lord specifically say that his intention is to not reveal anything outright, so as to keep any opposing forces as scattered as possible. Before you go inquiring about what you have _not_ been informed of, I recommend sharpening your recollection of those facts most relevant to your usefulness in His service. But because I find it harmless, I have no qualms in informing you that the Dark Lord has obtained a very powerful weapon that he has sought for a very long time, and the Carrows enjoy feeling more assured in their chosen avenue."

"A weapon? Like what Father was trying to get before he..." Before he went to Azkaban and everything changed and he came back and I hated him and I loved him and he gave me a Patronus?

"Not quite. This weapon is more literally a weapon than on that occasion. Now, if you excuse me, I have some _duties_ to attend to." And, rather classily blasting apart a disgustingly snogging couple without averting his eyes from the path forward, he strode away.

The snogging only reminded me of my predicament with Teri, though,

Draco

* * *

April 14, 1998

Dear Journal,

Weird.

Weird's what I'll call it.

Weird to lose someone you only just started to get. A kiss, and then the whole thing is taken back, not just back to before the kiss but back before everything. Back to behind the beginning. She knows me, and she doesn't like what she sees.

That was established by her words, but I finally figured something out. And that's that a Malfoy doesn't wait on anybody. At least, not on a woman. So I will confront her. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is another day, and I'm writing this in the light of my own wand. To sneak into her room in the middle of the night would indicate a step far further than I am anywhere near comfortable with, so that Gone With the Wind encouragement will have to suffice.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, it's only a day away!

Draco

* * *

April 15, 1998

Dear Journal,

Pretty apt that I ended the last entry with a classic Millicentism.

Well, tomorrow happened. And I made good on my word. Except I didn't so much as confront her as... kiss her. A lot. Until she kissed back. That's all we did, and by the end of it she had disillusioned us both. Probably she didn't want it getting around that she would kiss people she didn't even appreciate as people.

After we were done, I asked her, "So, do you still dislike me? Has anything changed?"

"Well... Nothing's _changed_," she said, but even my question confused her.

Maybe... maybe this would be the way I would finally learn something about what was happening from her. Beyond Patrick, she was the most closed off of anyone in that rowdy group; and yet, now she was the only chance I would get. "If this is what you do with people you don't like, I'm perfectly happy in this position." She smiled for real this time, and turned to walk away, but I called her back with a touch of my finger on her rumbled collar. "Are we going to start talking again, then?"

She frowned as she thought about it, and I wondered if my face looked to her like page 295 of _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 5_. The firelight would be my lips, but the words, the boring, dusty words, would be something less corporeal. "...If you want to talk to me, then talk to me."

So she was physically attracted to me. And why wouldn't she be?

And maybe I could use that to finally figure out what was going on.

Maybe if I found something important enough, I could report it to the Dark Lord.

And then maybe I could bring the Noble House of Malfoy the respect we deserve.

Because I know that she's certainly not on our side. Otherwise she wouldn't want to not like me so much, hm?

Plotting, plodding along,

Draco

* * *

April 18, 1998

Dear Journal,

Teri's begun to pack her things.

If I had more friends in her year, perhaps I would be more cognizant of her movements, but I abruptly encountered Daphne today and she tearfully told me this.

Daphne, it can be said,

F*ck, fell off my bed and completely lost my train of thought. Oh, telling you about my encounter with Daphne. Well enough. It wasn't too eventful, except for the fact that the entire time I wanted to further shake her sobbing form and demand an explanation to her sister's behavior. And also that I was observing the similarities between their eyes and nose and lips that I had so enjoyed...

"Are you leaving as well?" I asked after a stunned silence.

Touched by my "concern," she said to me, barely audible over the crackling of the Slytherin fire, "No. That's why it's so worrying... Where would she be going that I couldn't go with her?"

That seemed to preclude my next question, so I quickly formulated another: "Well, what did she seem like when she told you?"

The distraught girl was starting to become wary of me, as she was not oft to confide in me. "She didn't _tell_ me," she said quite haughtily.

I decided her to end the conversation: "Why are you telling _me_ this, then?"

"Because you're the person she spends the most time with," she explained, surprised at me somehow. "I thought it might have come up or something."

As she left to her dormitory to do whatever it is that girls do after crying, wipe her eyes or something, I went to you to record this exchange while it was still fresh in my ears. Perhaps it would have come up, if we had spent more time talking. Teri seemed almost bored with me now, doing this to distract her.

Maybe it's time to ask her point blank what the f*ck is going on,

Draco

* * *

April 20, 1998

Dear Journal,

The next time I saw Teri, she wasted no time in leading me to a more secluded place where we could confer and kiss at regular intervals.

Finally, after a particularly heated exchange, I asked, "Why?" She knew what I meant, and I wasn't about to waste the breath I was rather short of at the moment on unnecessary elaboration.

"Because you are such a coward that you have no problem with _me_ being one."

"Why is _everyone_ so preoccupied with bravery? We're not Gryffindors, after all!" Milly had once said something so similar; that they all felt like confiding their "cowardice" to _me_ is the most ludicrous part.

"Everyone? Who else?" Finally, she had asked me a question; and by that, I mean a question she actually wanted to know the answer to. I smiled. The ball was in my court, and I certainly would do nothing more than smile to sate her curiosity.

"Seeking confirmation in your peers, are we?"

"Whatever. Shut up."

And I did,

Draco

* * *

April 22, 1998

Dear Journal,

Do I need mention that I'm rather disappointed with Teri's answer? I mean, honestly, is that the only reason girls seek me out?

That's how I feel about it, though I guess on further inspection it's not quite true. Pansy sought me out because of our societal positions and genders and generally because it worked pretty conveniently. It was expected, it wasn't too unpleasant, badda bing-badda boom (WOW that sounds much better in my head than on paper). And with Milly we were never really close in _that_ particular manner, though my memories and thoughts of her tend to blur that line.

The same reason I occasionally hate myself is the reason they find to like me. Stupid house confused bints.

I mean, pardon _me_ if I was hoping it was some sort of _favorable_ attribute of myself. I don't think I'm so spare on them that she can't choose maybe one or two to be her champion!

Of course, it is terribly Teri-like that she would choose to describe her attraction in the most derogatory manner she can come up with, just for me.

Maybe I ought to be flattered by the attention!

Draco

* * *

April 23, 1998

Dear Journal,

I can't let this go. Especially as Teri's packing her bags and will soon effortlessly disappear from my life, just as they all have. Though, to be fair, I disappeared first, didn't I?

"Teri, unpack."

"Pardon me?"

"I am sick and tired of being _left_ or _grown out of_," I asserted.

"What brought this on?"

"Look, Teri, enough with all the games. I know that you're packing up and heading to... to wherever it is that _everyone else_ has gone. So what the _hell_ are you _doing_ with me right now?"

"What does _hell_ mean to you?" she asked flatly, bitterly, rhetorically. "...I'm giving you your second chance with Milly. That's why you're here, isn't it? Because I remind you of Milly! The Milly that hasn't left yet. So you can have your fun with me the way you used to with her, and you can have your fun with me the way you _didn't_ do with her. And now you're going to try and make me stay, because that's the one thing you regret the most about her leaving."

"Stop telling me what I'm doing here and tell me what you are."

"What I'm doing? Or what I am?"

"Whatever you want to tell me, _dearest_."

"It's funny, right now you are _so_ lonely that I really am your dearest, aren't I?"

"You _noxious_... I'm not the one who's lonely. _You're_ the one who kissed me in the first place!"

"I'm not _lonely_," she said fiercely, and I had this sudden sense that I would _finally_ be introduced to the _secret_ which had been looming over their heads for as long as I could remember. But she sensed it too and backtracked. "_You're_ the one who came crawling back afterward!"

"_Crawling?_" I took a deep breath to calm myself down. Any worse and I might hit her, and that was only proper _after_ marriage, or so Father had told me when I was seven. "F*ck it; we're both lonely."

She too breathed, closing her eyes and nodding to my conclusion.

"So why do you have to leave?"

"Because I don't want to be lonely anymore."

And then, because neither of us could think of anything else to say, we resumed our snogs as the house-elves busied themselves more with their supper preparations to leave us our privacy.

Everything in this relationship is wrong, and the way it's going to end is wrong, too.

But the one thing we don't know how to f*ck up is a good snog,

Draco

* * *

_A/N: Teehee; why is angst so fun to write?_

_Because Draco is a silly, angsty boy-toy. Who is dropping f-bombs a lot. Sorry, readers. Hormones are frustrating.  
_

_So, how'd you like that chapter? A lot happened, methinks._

*aprilshowersbringmayflowers...*

_So shower me with a reviews and May might hold some flowers for you._


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